


The Crazy World of Arthur Fleck (Joker x Reader stories)

by EarthAngelGirl30



Category: DC Elseworlds, Joker (2019)
Genre: 30 Day NSFW Challenge, 52 Short Stories in 52 Weeks, Angst and Feels, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Crush, Awkward First Times, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Kissing, Awkwardness, Bullying, Canon-Typical Violence, Complicated Relationships, Consensual Sex, Consent is Sexy, Crush at First Sight, Developing Friendships, Dominance, Drunk Sex, F/M, Falling In Love, Feels, First Kiss, First Love, First Meetings, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, French Kissing, Friendship/Love, Gentle Kissing, Hot Joker, Hurt/Comfort, I, Jealous Arthur, Joker (DCU) Angst, Joker (DCU) Has Issues, Joker (DCU) Needs a Hug, Killing, Kissing in the Rain, Light Dom/sub, Loss of Virginity, Love Confessions, Love Stories, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mild Kink, Mildly Dubious Consent, Murder Kink, Non-Graphic Violence, Obsessive Behavior, One Shot Collection, POV Joker (DCU), Reader-Insert, References to Depression, Romance, Romantic Friendship, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Secret Crush, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex, Shameless Smut, Short Stories, Shyness, Social Anxiety, Stalking, Sweet/Hot, Vaginal Sex, posessive Arthur, written in lockdown
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:07:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 37
Words: 136,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthAngelGirl30/pseuds/EarthAngelGirl30
Summary: My aim is to help provide an escape from reality during lockdown/quarantine for all Joker/Arthur fans.I'm writing this random collection of short stories about YOU (y/n) and the adorable Arthur//JokerLots of feels, fluff, angst, and (tastefully written) smut.Requests open -- just leave me a comment --Regular updates published.Hope y'all enjoy, and STAY SAFE OUT THERE guys! 🤡
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Joker (Joker 2019), Arthur Fleck/You, Joker/You
Comments: 56
Kudos: 106





	1. His Name Was Carnival (pt.1)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a requested Arthur Fleck/Child! Reader 3part oneshot.
> 
> Your 8 year old self has a childhood crush on Arthur, unaware that he's about to become Joker and wind up in Arkham State Hospital; where you'll seek him out many years later, hoping to find closure
> 
> Lots of innocent fluff with a little bit of angst
> 
> \-- 1st person POV --

You still remember the very first time you saw him.   
Even now the memory is so vivid that when you close your eyes you can still picture his face. 

That painted-on smile, scruffy hobo-clown costume, the bright green wig and those big silly shoes.

His name was Carnival....

It was a Wednesday afternoon and your mom picked you up from school early.   
Usually you would find missing an afternoon of school awesome but you didn't today.  
Today you was sick, so sick that the school had to call your mom to come get you and now she was taking you to see the doctor.

And you really, really didn't want to go.

As you walk through Gotham Square holding onto your mom's hand, you drag your feet and wail that you don't want to go.  
All you want is to be at home, cuddled up with your teddy on the couch, watching cartoons with a snugly blanket wrapped around you.

"Really (y/n) is there any need to make such a fuss? You have to see a doctor you're sick."

"I just want to go home." You sniffle, the tears in your eyes blurring your vision.

"We'll go home afterwards, now don't be such a silly girl."

As you continue the sound of music catches your attention and your mom has to slow her pace due to a crowd that's gathered near Gotham Plaza, blocking the way.

Your mom huffs and starts trying to push her way through, you realise the music is coming from a man sitting playing a jolly tune on an old upright piano.   
But it isn't him that's attracted the attention of the passers-by.

It's a clown.

Now at the front of the gathering your mom is forced to stop, realising it would be rude to cut-straight across the area where the clown is performing. And your mom is all about manners. 

She's about to make her way around the inside perimeter of the crowd, when the clown spots you and gives you a little wave.

You refuse to budge and tug on your moms hand to try and halt her.  
She stops and sees you wave back at the clown shyly.

Noticing your sad expression, he tilts his head to one side then begins taking huge, long, exaggerated strides towards you like a cartoon character which makes you want to giggle.

When he reaches you he crouches down on his haunches so that he's level with you.

"Hey..." He says in a soft, low voice. "....why so sad little one?"

"She's sick. I'm taking her to see the doctor." Your mom chimes in.

That makes you kind of mad. She didn't give you chance to answer, and he was talking to you not her!

But the clown only looks at your mom briefly before returning his gaze to you. His mouth turns down at the corners. He looks sad for you.

"Aww, you poor thing. Not feeling too good huh?"

You shake your head and wipe your teary eyes on the back of your sleeve.   
"My tummy hurts." 

With a flick of the wrist he produces a bright red handkerchief and hands it to you so you can dry your eyes.

"Oh no. Tummy ache is the worst!" He gives a sympathetic smile. "My name is Carnival. What's yours?"

"(y/n)" 

"It's nice to meet you (y/n). Wanna hear a joke?"

You nod eagerly.

"Knock knock.."

"Who's there?"

"Boo."

"Boo who?" You ask with a grin.

"N'aww don't cry (y/n). I'm here now to make you smile!"

You laughed and he chuckled too.

Reaching out he then pretends to grab your nose and held it in his hand.

"I got your nose (y/n). Can I keep it?"

"No." You giggled. "I need it."

"Pleeease. It's a nice nose. How about a trade? You can have mine, here...go on take it." He leans forward so you can take his red clown nose between your thumb and finger, then he pulls back so the string was stretched tight.

"Go on, take it."

"I can't."

"Awww, come on, try harder!" 

You pull at the nose until he moves his head and you accidentally let go, the string pinging back against his face. At first you're worried in case you hurt him, but Carnival does an elaborate backward roll, landing on his knees, and it makes the crowd laugh and clap.

"How did you do that?" You ask, amazed by his skill. "I'm not good at forward rolls or backward rolls."

"No, I bet you're not all that bad."

"I am." You insist.

At that point your mom breaks up the conversation, reminding both you and Carnival that you need to get to your appointment.

"Right, s-sorry." He mumbles, fiddling awkwardly with his shirtsleeves. "Well (y/n) it was fun meeting you--"

"I don't want to go!" You cry. 

All you want to do is stay here a while longer with Carnival and watch him do tricks.

Your mom rolls her eyes and looks at him, not bothering to hide her exasperation. "She doesn't want to go to the doctor." She looks down at you. "You're being silly."

For some reason you feel your face grow hot and you feel embarrassed. Why did mom have to tell Carnival you're silly? You most certainly are not silly.

And then, just as you're thinking it...he swoops in to defend you.

"You're not silly, are you (y/n)? I don't like going to the doctor either, but when you're sick they're the only ones who can make you feel better."

"But you make me feel better." You blurt honestly, and several members of the crowd collectively 'awwww' simultaneously.

Carnival smiles happily and it shows in his green eyes. They're bright and sparkling with joy, as if you just made his day.

"Thank you princess. I'm so happy that I've made you feel better. But you know the doctor can give you medicine to make you well again. So, you gonna be a big brave girl for me and see the doctor?"

You think about it for a long while, still not keen on going but you don't want to look bad in front of Carnival. This was your chance to show him you could be brave, because for some reason you wanted to impress him.

"Okay." You say at last.

"Good girl."

You try to return his handkerchief to him but he waves it away with a smile.  
"You keep it (y/n). Just in case you need it again but I'm sure you won't, 'cause you're such a brave girl."

Beaming, you allow your mom to lead you away, waving goodbye to Carnival as you go.

As you sit in the doctors waiting room, you clutch the handkerchief tightly in your hands like it's your newest, most treasured possession.   
To you it's a souvenir to remember him by.

A few days later when you were feeling better your mom took you to the fairground at Amusement Mile. 

It was a Saturday and Gotham had for once been blessed with decent weather. The sun was shining, it wasn't bleak and overcast, and when you saw a familiar character the day seemed to get brighter still.

"Carnival!" You yell, running up to greet the friendly clown. "It's me! Do you remember?"

You'd be crushed if he didn't remember, but to your delight he smiles a megawatt smile and greets you like an old friend.

"(y/n)! Of course I remember you. D'you feel better now?"

You nod, throwing your arms around him as he bends down. 

He laughs as he hugs you back. "You've come for a day at the fair, huh? Which rides do you want to ride the most?"

"The biggest and scariest." You tell him proudly, while he wowed and looked impressed.

Your mom catches up and groans. "She isn't bothering you is she?" 

Carnival shakes his head and frowns a little. "No, she isn't bothering me at all."

"(y/n) you have to let the nice clown do his job. He's working."

"Honestly it's fine. This is my work." He makes a sweeping gesture in the general direction of all the other kids that have congregated around him.

You stay put to watch Carnival perform. He dances and tells jokes, does forward rolls and even a few magic tricks.

Every time he makes a fuss over any other kid you can't help feeling quite resentful of them. An irrational jealousy, like when somebody has something you wanted but can't have. 

But you can have most of Carnival's attention and when he does a trick with a wand that turns it into a bouquet of fake flowers and he gives them to you, you feel sure you are his favourite.

Before leaving that day you ask where you could see Carnival again. He tells you most days he is at Gotham Plaza but will also be at a charity event the following weekend.

Of course you hassle your mom to take you, and eventually she gives in.

"She's obsessed with some clown." Your overhear your mom saying to a friends mom. "Can you believe I took her to the fair and she was happier doing tricks with the clown than going on the rides?"

"Aw, sounds like she's got a bit of a crush. It's perfectly naturally at that age." The other woman replies.

A crush?

You don't even know what that means.

One day after visiting Gotham Plaza to see Carnival and give him a picture you made, you ask your mom what a crush is.

"It's when you have special feelings for someone you like very much. It means you care about them and enjoy their company."

Special feelings. Yes, you do have special feelings for Carnival.   
You think about him a lot and certain songs on the radio reminds you of him.  
You want to tell your friends that you love him but are too afraid of them making fun of you. They already teased you because he was your friend.  
So instead you settled on writing his name over and over in your notebook, drawing hearts around it.

The day of the charity fete came and the bus ride to Lansdown park seemed to take forever. You were so excited and impatient to see him.   
There was something about the clown that made your heart zing.

When you and your mom finally find him he's entertaining a group of people by making balloon animals.

As soon as you go running over he runs towards you, swoops you up and swings you around in the air as you squeal in delight.

"Here's my little assistant!" He announces to the onlookers, which makes you blush shyly but your heart swells with pride.

Carnival makes you feel special. He always listens to you and makes you laugh.   
He's one of those rare grown-ups that doesn't talk down to you or make you feel invisible, or like you're a nuisance. He's always more than happy to spend his time with you and genuinely seems to want to.

"Mommy mommy, what do you call a deer with no eyes?" You ask your mom, running over to where she sits on a nearby bench.

She looks up from her book and shrugs.

"No idea....do you get it? No. Eye. Deer!" 

"That's....real funny (y/n)." She says dryly.

Bouncing up and down on your heels, you wave your hands excitedly. "And what do you call a deer with no eyes and no legs?"

"I don't know sweetie."

"Still no idea!" You whoop. "He's still because he has no legs!"

"(y/n)! That's not a very nice joke. Did Carnival tell you that?"

Not wanting to get your beloved friend into trouble you shake your head, telling a little white lie. "Uh, no. It was a friend from school."

Just then Carnival comes over, smiling as he says hi to your mom.  
She pats the seat beside her on the bench and he sits down gratefully, in need of a quick break.   
It's another surprisingly warm day in Gotham and he's hot and sweaty from all the excursion of dancing and running around.

"Here, I bet you could use this." Mom says as she hands him some juice.

"Thank you. That's....that's very kind of you."

He takes a long swig from the juice bottle then suddenly pulls off his wig and clown nose.

You stare at him for the longest time, mesmerised by the sight.  
He has brown wavy hair and looks so different without his red nose.  
You decide in that moment that he's actually very pretty and you're going to marry him when you grow up.

But he's talking to mom.  
And mom is laughing and smiling at him.  
You don't like it much. That is, you're glad your mom likes him and everything, but he's going to be your boyfriend someday not hers.

Taking action you climb up onto the bench and sit between them, just catching the tail end of their conversation..

"So what is your name?" She asks, showing off her perfect white teeth.

Your teeth are white but you're missing a few which isn't fair. You wished you had moms' pretty smile.

"Arthur...Arthur Fleck." You hear him say. He then turns to you and pulls a funny face. "I don't like it much."

"I do." You tell him. "Is Carnival your middle name? Mister Arthur Carnival Fleck." 

This makes him laugh a lot and you love the sound of his laughter soooooo much.   
Then you begin laughing yourself as he tickles your neck, and you retaliate by tickling his ribs.

After taking his short break Carnival puts his wig and nose back on, and grabs you by the waist, hoisting you up to sit on his shoulders.

"Hey (y/n), how about I give you a forward roll lesson?" 

"Yes please!" You respond enthusiastically. "And backward ones too?"

"Sure, backward ones too."

Your mom watches as you both find a clear patch of grass and Carnival gives you a tutorial on how to position your head, followed by a demonstration on how to roll.

"I can't do it." You say sadly, after many failed attempts. "I'm rubbish. I can't do anything."

"Yes you can. You're not rubbish (y/n), it just takes practice. It took me ages to learn."

"Really?"

"Aha. I was no good at first but you have to be patient and not give up."

An hour later and to your own amazement you've mastered the art of rolling both forwards and backwards. Carnival claps each time and praises you, happy to wait and watch as you keep repeating the rolls.

"Thank youuuuu." You tell him as you throw your arms around him to hug. "You're my best friend, I love you."

He hugs you back tightly and gently kisses the top of your head. "I love you too and I'm so lucky that you picked me to be your best friend."

And you were best friends. 

That is, you thought you were, but then Carnival disappeared.

Week after week you hassle your mom into taking you to Gotham Plaza but he's no longer there. There's no sight or sound of him.

You miss him and wonder where he could have gone. You hope he's safe and okay, but has he just forgotten all about you?  
He wouldn't.

You pinky-promised each other that you'd be friends forever.

The balloon dog he made for you sits on your nightstand, shrivelling slowly as it loses air and elasticity. But you won't throw it away, even though it makes you miss Carnival even more. It's still your memory from one of your best days ever.

You keep hoping he comes back.

You don't know what you'd do without your best friend in the whole world.  
You keep wondering if something has happened. You hope it isn't anything bad....

How was you to know that something bad was happening and soon you was about to find out.


	2. His Name Was Carnival (pt.2)

Just like the vivid memory of you first meeting Carnival stuck in your minds eye, so did another vivid memory. Only the other was painful and deeply distressing.

You'd been out of town all day with your mom visiting relatives. It was late by the time you arrived back in Gotham and neither of you had any possible idea that you'd return to find the city ablaze.

Police cars, fire trucks and ambulances were everywhere you looked, prompting your mom to switch on the radio so she could find out what exactly was going on.  
You don't remember anything that was said on the radio, but you sensed that your mom was scared.

As she pulled her car onto the main drag which ran through Gotham Square, you stared out of the window at the carnage around you.

It was terrifying.

Gangs of masked thugs ran up and down the street, smashing up store windows and parked cars, starting fires and letting off flares.

You remember your mom swearing. That stuck in your head because you never heard her swear in front of you. At that point you started asking her if everything was going to be okay and she assured you it would be.

But it wouldn't be okay.  
Not for you.

The car was forced to slow down due to the wreckage of some vehicles in the road blocking the way. Your mom swore again and told you to hang on while she turned the car around.

It was as she was performing this manoeuvre that your young eyes fell on the slim figure of a man standing on the hood of a police car.

He wore a bright red suit, had stringy green hair and was wearing messy clown makeup.

Pressing your face up against the glass so you could get a closer look, you watched as he stood with his arms outstretched in front of the huge crowd that had gathered.  
They looked as if they worshipped him, cheering for him like he was a famous celebrity or more accurately, their leader.

Their leader.  
The man responsible for the destruction of Gotham.

But as your mum reversed, the tail end of the car nearing the crowd, the sound of screeching tyres caught the man's attention.

He looked up at the exact moment you realised who it was.

Carnival? 

No it couldn't be.

You stared open-mouthed at his face. That familiar face. The same lovely face which had smiled at you so many times. The face you'd been missing so much. The face you adored.

As he looked back at you recognition dawned in his watery eyes. He lowered his arms, the demonic red grin falling as he recognised that it was you.

It felt like the longest few moments of your life as you stared at him in horror, trying to comprehend how your beloved friend had turned into the monster that now gazed back at you amidst the chaos he'd created.

You recoiled away from the window with a scream, which startled your mom and made her stall the car.

Fear coursed through your veins as you shouted at her to drive away, sobbing hysterically.  
She did.  
And even though you didn't want to see any more you couldn't tear your eyes away until Carnival was nothing but a blurred red smudge in the distance.

You hadn't slept that night.  
Too afraid to in case he came after you, plus every time you closed your eyes you saw that image. 

A red-suited demon had now taken the place of the green-wigged clown you loved with all your heart.

You eventually fell asleep crying into your pillow and it was first night of many that you spent that way.

The nightmares were worse.

You'd often wake screaming and shaking, breaking into a cold sweat.  
They were always the same.

You'd be playing in the street when you'd spot Carnival in the distance. Then you'd chase after him but when you eventually caught up he wasn't Carnival anymore.

He was that thing he'd become.

Joker.

You never actually told your mom that you'd recognised Carnival that night but she knew it was him once she watched the news, and as much as she tried to hide the true identity of Joker from you, you still remembered Carnival's real name.

Arthur Fleck.

His name would crop up all the time.

You'd see his photograph splashed across the Newspapers, and even though your mom switched the TV set off every time anything to do with Joker came on, you still saw him on TV at your friends house.

In the playground other kids talked about him, even making up gory rhymes.  
You were only thankful that nobody in school joined the dots and figured out that Joker was Carnival the clown who you'd wanted to grow up and marry someday.

Clowns ended up being one of your biggest fears as a result of what Carnival became.  
There were many years when just hearing the word clown would trigger you.  
It made you fearful and soul-crushingly sad.  
Sad that a man so lovable and gentle could turn into someone that did such terrible things.  
With every new thing you learned about Joker, the things he'd done, the people he'd killed, the more it hurt.

Now that you're a lot older you still struggle, but you also think a part of you can understand what made Arthur do the things he did, and while you'd never condone his choices, you at least recognise why he perhaps felt like he had nothing left to lose.

With each passing year, as the whole Joker saga eventually died down, you became more and more intrigued by what had driven him to such extreme violence.  
Turning detective, you researched all the source material available. Read more articles on his past, watched the footage of his disastrous standup at Pogo's and the grisly interview with Murray Franklin that ended with his death.

It was apparent that hurt people hurt people. Arthur was hurting and he must've had some type of breakdown, which led him to hurt the ones who'd hurt or wronged him.

A close friend of yours thinks you're becoming obsessed with trying to get into Arthur's psyche but they don't get why this is such a big deal to you.

The man ripped your heart out when he disappeared as Carnival, then he broke it into pieces when you witnessed him reemerge as Joker.

You've carried all of this around with you for way too long. All this emotional baggage wasn't doing you any good.

So you figure the best way to heal and put it all behind you is to confront the cause of all your turbulent emotions head-on.

Yes. You're certain that if you go and speak to Arthur then maybe you'll find the closure you need in order to move-on with your life. You owe it to your 8 year old self, the little girl who was never quite the same after that night of rioting that's gone down as the bleakest day in Gotham's history.

Following the capture and arrest of Joker all those years ago he's been an inmate at Arkham State Hospital ever since.  
Well there was one escape a year or two after his arrest and rumours of a couple of failed attempts, but in recent years he's been securely incarcerated.

You have to make several phone calls to try and arrange a visit and each time you've been strongly encouraged to reconsider your request.

He's manipulative they say and has a way of charming people.  
You guess he already did that when you were a child, so you could handle it.

Up until two years ago he wasn't even allowed visitors as he was deemed too volatile and incoherent, but now that his behaviour has improved he's earned those privileges.

"Does anyone ever come to see him?" You ask the guard as he checks to make sure you're not trying to smuggle in any weapons or tools that could help aid Arthur's escape.

"Nope. He's got no relatives or friends." He replies gruffly, looking you up and down rather rudely. "You sure you wanna do this? There won't be any protective glass separating you from him, you know that right?"

You didn't but you can't let that deter you now after you've come so far.

"It...it's fine. But if he's so dangerous how come there's no glass partition?"

"Beats the hell out of me." He answers, opening a door using a security code. "New human rights laws and protocol state that he's earned these privileges because there hasn't been an incident in over two years. Personally I say he don't deserve any rights or privileges. Goddamn lunatic!"

You flinch at the severity of his words and angry tone of voice.  
This guard certainly isn't the compassionate type, and he probably doesn't approve of you visiting Arthur, but you don't let his judgmental gaze bother you.  
Someone like him would never understand the complexity of the situation.

The walk down the long, dingy corridor seems to take forever, the sound of your footsteps bouncing off the faded white tiled walls.  
When you reach the end of the corridor the guard unlocks the door to a consultation room and stands aside so you can go in.

The walls are tiled and everything is painted the same shade of grubby white. There's no windows, and the only things in the room is a table, two chairs, and a clock hanging high up on the wall.

"Take a seat, he'll be along shortly."

You nod and thank him, then take the seat facing the door.

It's quite chilly in here, you notice, as you shiver slightly and pull your coat tighter around you. The room is eerily silent, save for the incessant ticking of the clock.

Jesus. What an awful, dreary place. Surely being locked up in here was enough to drive anyone crazy.

Just then you hear voices echoing from out in the corridor and you look towards the door just as it opens.

And you freeze in your seat as all the air is knocked out of your lungs.

Here he was, Arthur, wearing hospital-issued clothing that looked a lot like scrubs, and he's handcuffed at the wrists.

As a doctor ushers him into the room those same bright green eyes latch onto you, and you swallow hard.

All those years might have been long enough to dim the beauty of his eyes in your memory, becoming a regular standard shade of green, but they aren't.  
They're like two gemstones, emerald with flecks of jade in his irises.  
But like the sea in winter, they've turned stormy and cold. Those eyes were once like the windows to his soul, but now the shutters are closed.  
That's probably for the best.

As for the rest of his appearance, his chiselled cheekbones are not as prominent due to him looking like he's gained a little weight, softening the previously sharp contours of his face, and his body is still lean but not as skinny.  
He looks good. Healthy, a little tired, but good.

You've tried hard not to pay too much attention to his appearance on the TV and in the papers but now he's here in front of you in strikingly high-definition, and the reality is unexpected.  
You can actually understand why you found him handsome as a kid.  
He is handsome and it unsettles you to even think like that. This man is also the perpetrator of several heinous crimes and the one responsible for your childhood trauma.

"You only have fifteen minutes I'm afraid." The doctor says to you, as Arthur pulls out the chair and sits down opposite you. "If you need me I'll be right outside the door."

"T-thank you." You stammer nervously.

The door closes and you raise timid eyes to Arthur. His expression is unreadable, but he gives you a suspicious, wary look, like he doesn't trust you, which is ironic.

"You...you don't get many visitors do you, Arthur?"

He stares at you bleakly without answering. He's so cold and unresponsive, as if he's been carved from granite and you realise you're so completely unprepared for this.  
You didn't come equipped with a hammer and chisel. How are you supposed to chip away this solid wall he's built around himself?

You take a deep breath and say, shakily "You don't remember me do you.....Carnival?"

For a fleeting moment he looks puzzled. Then he looks like he's been hit in the face with a brick, and there's a stunned pause as he gets over the shock.

He does remember. He knows you. He doesn't look especially thrilled to see you, not that you was expecting he would be.  
.  
"(y/n)" He says at last, taking a sharp intake of breath.

Oh God. Hearing him say your name after so many years is surreal, and suddenly you feel choked up with strange emotions.

"Yes." You reply shyly. "It's me."

"This is so unexpected." You're blindsided when he smiles suddenly and it shows in his eyes, as if he's just come to life. How could it be that he is pleased to see you after all? "How...how are you?"

He reaches across the table and lays his hand on yours but instinctively you pull away from him.  
Now he's looking at you all softly and sadly, and he's got absolutely no right. You're the one who has been hurting all these years and he's the man responsible. How dare he make you feel bad for rejecting his touch.

"How am I?" You repeat, raising your eyebrows. "Really? Did you seriously just ask me that?"

Arthur's dark brows dip into a confused frown, as if he can't understand your overreaction.

"Y-yeah I asked 'cause I wanna know." He says honestly. "I just can't believe you're here. Wow..." He leans back in his chair and stares at you in awe. "You're all grown up now. Geez, it's been so long. How's your mom--?"

"Arthur!" You interrupt angrily. "I didn't come here to have a polite catch-up." 

He sighs heavily. "I guessed that, but I'm still glad you came."

You blink. "You are?"

He nods sadly. "I am. I thought I'd never get the chance to apologise to you for..well, everything."

Resting your arms on the table you lean forwards a little.  
This isn't what you were expecting. For him to remember. To look so sad and troubled. Haunted even, by the memories.

"When I saw you in that car...my heart sank." He admits in that familiar soft, low voice of his. "The way you looked at me, I haven't been able to get that out of my head. It's like I knew then, in that moment, that I'd lost the only friend I ever had."

You try to swallow down the lump that's formed in your throat. Your anger for his disappearance, for the trauma he'd caused, seems to fade into insignificance.  
He knew all along that he had hurt you and he's remorseful.

Now you felt a hard rush of emotion, sympathy and fondness for this wretched man who you'd never been able to stop thinking about.  
And the feelings you had for him never really went away, but unlike a childhood crush these feelings run deep. Much deeper than you'd like.

"Arthur....you hurt me so much." You fight to steady your voice. "I thought you were my friend."

"I was."

"Then you just disappeared."

"I did."

"But I thought you cared about me."

"I do!" He exclaimed, leaning forwards. "I never stopped caring (y/n). Which is why I stayed in here."

"What?" You frown in bewilderment. "What are you talking about?"

Arthur reaches into his pocket and pulls out a crumpled pack of cigarettes. He offers you one but you shake your head.

"I could get outta this place anytime I want. It was easy the first time. But then I got to thinking and realised it would be best for you if I stayed in."

"Best for me?"

He nods, taking a long drag on his cigarette. "I knew you were afraid of me so as long as I was locked up you wouldn't have to be frightened. Not to mention all those goons who were rioting. As soon as the police picked me up the rioting stopped. I figured you'd be safe then."

You rub at your temples with your fingertips, this dramatic bombshell overloading your head to the point of exploding.

"I....I can't believe you would do that just for me." 

Arthur's gaze lowers to the table in shame. "It was the least I could do after all the pain I caused you."

"Arthur, it's true that seeing you as Joker traumatised me, but the more I've learned the better I understand your reasoning."

Teary eyes snapped up to meet yours, and the sight made your heart wrench in on itself.  
"You....you do?"

You nod, roughly wiping away your own tears. "The system failed you. Your illness, the medication you should've been on....they let you down. You were an outsider, an outcast, society played a huge part in what you did. What you were driven to do. I didn't get that when I was younger, but I do now."  
Now it was you who reached out and clasped hold of his hand.  
"Arthur....I forgive you."

He stares at you as his hand closes protectively around yours, and a lonely teardrop winds its way down his cheek.

"Thank you." He whispers, his voice cracking with the strain of his emotions. "I don't deserve it."

"Don't say that." You gently brush away the tear and he leans into your touch, briefly closing his eyes. " The sacrifice you made by staying here makes you more than deserving."

"That means a lot to me, princess." He smiles, and your heart flutters due to him calling you that again.

Casually as you can, you lean across and take the lit cigarette from his mouth and take a long drag. "You know, I used to....I used to have a crush on you." 

His eyes glisten with amusement and he smiles bashfully. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Actually I was madly in love with you, I used to think about you all the time. Stupid, huh?"

Arthur chuckles, his complexion turning pink. "That's not stupid."

"Arthur I was like eight years old." You giggle.

"So? Just because you were a kid doesn't mean what you felt wasn't real. Everybody has their first crush. It's naive and innocent but at the time it means everything to you."

You smile at him, freeing his hand so you can pass him back the cigarette. "That's one of the reasons why I adored you, Arthur. You never dismissed what I was saying or doing as nothing, not like my mom used to. It made me feel special."

"You were special and you still are (y/n). You always will be."

Just then the doctor pulls open the door, making you jump slightly.

"Visiting time is up." She says, her eyes darting back and forth between you both.

Damn. There's still plenty more you would like to say, but the words seemed to get stuck in your throat before, and now you've been interrupted.

Looking resigned, Arthur obediently scrapes back his chair and stands.  
Then you've no idea what comes over you, but emotions give way inside you like a landslide. Making your way around the table to him, like a knee-jerk reaction you can't resist, you wrap your arms around him awkwardly.

The hug is awkward because he's handcuffed, which is a bit of an obstruction to say the least, and the doctor is watching you disapprovingly but you don't rightly care.

And Arthur doesn't protest. Instead he raises his arms up, allowing you to step beneath them, so when he loops them over you he's embracing you tightly.

You feel your heart racing and blood rushing to your face, and you're only glad that he can't actually see you blushing.

"Will you come visit me again?" His voice comes out muffled as his face is buried in your hair. "It's been so good seeing you."

You lift up your head and feel your stomach lurch as you realise just how close your face is to his. 

"Maybe." You say with a wry smile. "I don't think I could stand losing you now, Carnival."

He smiles back, his eyes now sparkling and alive, filled with renewed hope. 

"You'll never lose me again, princess."


	3. His Name Was Carnival (pt.3)

A few days after visiting Arthur you're surprised to receive a letter from him,

Dear (y/n)

As I write this I'm still in shock from you coming to see me yesterday and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it since. How much you've changed and grown up, but one thing is still the same. You still have a big heart.  
I hope you will come again and visit me soon. Honestly, I loved seeing you again.

Best wishes always,

Arthur.

You found yourself smiling moronically as you read, and re-read the letter several times.

Knowing that he'd been glad to see you made you so happy, and whether you liked it or not Arthur still meant a lot to you.  
That was when you realised you just had to accept that there would always be a special place in your heart for him.

Your mind was instantly made up after the letter.  
You wrote him back, even though you'd decided to visit him again that Friday, which meant he received the letter on the day of your visit....

"I just got your letter this morning." He beamed, as he took his seat facing you. "It made me smile. Thank you."

You smiled back at him goofily, feeling elated to have made him smile. "I'm glad, but you don't have to thank me."

His smile wavered a little, and his eyes lowered to the table. "I do."

"Why?" 

"Because....well because it means a lot to me. I haven't had anything to smile about in a long time. Now I do."

Touched, you reached across and held his hand. You could see how deeply it affected him. The letter. The visits. Your touch.  
The latter became glaringly obvious when he unexpectedly lifted your hand to his mouth and gently kissed the back of it, holding it against his lips as his eyes drifted shut.

You felt heat rushing through your body, blushing from the roots of your hair all the way down to your toes.  
No one else had ever had this affect on you.  
Only 'Carnival'.

Seemingly lost in his own little world, Arthur finally awoke from his trance and opened his eyes. He saw your amazed expression and hastily let your hand go, mumbling his apologies,

"I...I'm sorry (y/n), I shouldn't have done that--."

"No it's...it's fine, really." You assured him, cheeks still flaming.

He met your eyes and held your gaze steadily. "I'm just so glad you're here."

If your mind wasn't made up before, it certainly was then in that moment.  
You vowed to always be there for him.

And you was.

Every week you visited him without fail, and letters were sent back and forth in between.

As time went by you kind of noticed the subtle shift in the way Arthur worded his letters, but tried not to dwell on it too much. The 'best wishes' became 'love' and in time, 'lots of love' then even 'all my love'.

He's just being friendly, you thought.  
During your visits he often referred to you as his best friend, so it didn't necessarily mean anything more than that. Him loving you as a friend was only to be expected after all. You were all he had in the world.

"You have a positive influence on him." His doctor at Arkham explained, after one of your many visits. "I've observed a significant change in Arthur's behaviour and overall demeanour. Writing to you gives him a sense of purpose, and your visits and letters give him something to look forward to." 

She paused, contemplating her next words carefully, and you waited anxiously, wondering if there'd be an inevitable "but".

"However, I would strongly advise that you proceed with caution. I've witnessed the development of your relationship and--"

"Wait, what?" You interjected, suddenly flustered. "We're just friends that's all. It's...it's nothing romantic."

The doctor stared at you, her deadpan expression hinting that she wasn't at all convinced. "Miss (y/l/n), whether you consider your closeness to Arthur romantic or not, you must be mindful that his feelings could run deeper. Which is why you need to be careful. He's emotionally fragile and if you unintentionally upset him I'm concerned there's a risk of him relapsing."

Relapsing?

The meaning of the ugly word and the possibility of Arthur suffering a relapse dropped in your mind like a heavy stone, and you weren't equipped to bear the weight of it.  
Unwanted visions flashed through your minds eye, memories of the Murray Franklin TV footage, and Arthur standing on the hood of that police car as Joker, chilled you to the bone.

He wouldn't revert again, would he? He wouldn't kill anyone. And he would never harm you, surely.

More to the point, the idea of Arthur developing romantic feelings for you seemed absurd. He was so much older, he'd known you as a child so he would never see you as a grown woman. Even his sweet gestures of holding your hand and hugging you were completely platonic.

In fact, the more you though about it the more saddened you became, which worried you quite a bit.  
You couldn't understand why the reality of him never being attracted to you that way, bothered you like it did. And you didn't dare overanalyse what it could mean.

"I've got some great news princess." Arthur blurted excitedly on your next visit. "Can you believe I've been reassessed and the board has granted me day release privileges?"

Your stomach lurched with excitement, mostly on his behalf but also your own.  
The idea of being able to spend a day with Arthur away from the hospital made your heart soar.

But such news ended up being headline news, quite literally.  
Somehow word got out, an orderly at Arkham possibly leaking information to the press in order to make a quick buck, and it was front page news within a matter of days.

The public responded in the typical fashion to the article which deliberately provoked such a reaction.  
The perceived threat of Joker being allowed the freedom to wander Gotham struck fear into people's hearts and minds.

"Have you heard the news?" Your mom asked, having specifically dropped by just to discuss the matter with you. "They're letting him out!"

As casually as you could, you gave a carefree shrug of the shoulders. "Only for the day. It's not such a big deal."

Naturally your mom was incensed. "Not a big deal? Need I remind you that this is the man who kept you awake at night for years, while I picked up the pieces....and now you think this is no big deal!"

"It...it was years ago mom. I've moved on with my life. I grew up--"

"That man ruined your childhood (y/n). You're damaged because of him!"

You frowned at her, feeling angered. "I'm not damaged. I worked through my issues. You shouldn't let this get to you."

She shook her head, nostrils flaring with indignation. "Well they'll be sorry when he gets out and goes on a rampage. It's bound to cause riots and god knows how many people he could kill."

Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you subtly changed the subject.  
You couldn't deal with your mothers melodramatics.  
She was just like the rest of them. Narrow minded and unwilling to try and understand.

When the day finally came of Arthur's trial day release, a driver was provided by the hospital and Arthur had to leave via the back entrance in order to avoid the awaiting press at the front gate.

You bounced on your heels impatiently as you waited to meet him by the car. Your stomach churned and your palms grew clammy with sweat. You assumed it was nervousness for Arthur. What else could it be?

After what felt like an eternity of waiting one of the rear doors opened, and there was Arthur, being escorted out by two guards.

Wearing simple clothing, grey trousers, a shirt beneath his navy sweater and a thin, tan coloured jacket, you found yourself staring at him in awe.  
You'd never seen him in regular clothes before, and he looked like any other guy you passed on the street.  
Except he wasn't just any guy to you.  
To you he was....everything.

As soon as the handcuffs were removed you ran towards him, happier than ever to see him.

He yelped in surprise as you threw your arms around him, sending him stumbling backwards. He steadied you both, holding you tightly as he looked down at you, giddy with excitement.

"Is this really happening?" He grinned. "It doesn't seem real."

"It's real, Arthur." You smiled up at him. "You're a free man for the day."

As an extra precaution a guard placed a blanket over Arthur's head, to shield his identity.

You guided him to the car, then slid onto the back seat beside him.

"I had hoped we could do something fun, like go for dinner or maybe even Amusement Mile." You told him, as the car wound it's way through the early morning traffic. "But obviously because of all the recent press coverage and everything, the doctor said it's best to stay inside."

"Yeah, that would've been nice." He replied, sounding a little deflated. "But honestly, I don't mind where we go, as long as we're together."

Your heart pinched at his words. But he looked undeniably sad.

"Are you okay?" You asked, studying his sullen expression with concern.

"Oh, uh, yeah I'm fine. It's just...all the stuff the press have dragged up." He shook his head sadly. "I need you to know that...that you're safe with me. I would never hurt you, princess."

"Oh, Arthur. I know that." Gently you placed your hand on his arm reassuringly. "I trust you."

He breathed a sigh of immense relief, the hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Thank you. I'm glad you understand. Joker...well, that's not who I am anymore. I'm not the guy who did all those things. I'd rather be remembered as Carnival, you know? I loved being him. He just wanted to make people happy."

You nod understandingly, and feel suddenly lighter, which was kind of weird.  
It's not like you feared Arthur, after all, but to hear him say that he wasn't Joker meant he didn't just regret what he'd done in the past, he'd moved on, and didn't want to be associated with the notorious clown persona that had broken your heart as a child.

He was your Carnival again, and you didn't need to see the makeup or silly wig. It was the man behind the costume that was fun and kindhearted, who made you smile and laugh. That was who you loved, and still did.

The realisation was sobering, your feelings forcing you to acknowledge the truth.  
You loved 'Carnival' as a kid.  
As an adult, you loved Arthur.  
But it was still completely innocent, you'd convinced yourself of that.  
It was natural to love someone as a friend, and you could still find them handsome, it didn't mean anything.

You arrived at your destination. The house you live in, an old Victorian townhouse in Gotham village, which has been converted into six small apartments.

"I'm sorry the choice was so limited." You say, leading him up the wrought iron steps to your door which leads onto a tiny roof terrace. "It isn't exactly much fun, having to come here."

"(y/n) I already told you, I'm just glad to be outta that place, and to be with you."

You let him in and watch as he looks around the room, considering your floral couch, antique coffee table, and little brick fireplace. 

"I like your place." He says politely, admiring an oil painting of a landscape which hangs on the wall.

"It's small." You grumble, making your way through to the even tinier kitchen.

"It's cozy." You hear him say behind you, and all your nerves immediately stand to attention.

Arthur might be slim but he's tall, and his presence in the already small room made it seem even smaller.

Trying to focus, you reach into a cupboard for two cups. "Do you want a coffee? Or something else? Not alcohol though, obviously, I can't take you back drunk."

He chuckles softly, amused at the thought. "Yeah I'd definitely have my privileges revoked for that. Coffee's just fine, thanks."

You settle onto your little couch, and once again you're intensely aware of Arthur's proximity as you sit side by side, chatting as you drink your coffee.  
His long legs are splayed out, his knee ever so subtly brushing yours.  
You've never been able to sit so close to him. To be in his company in a relaxed environment, away from prying eyes in the hospital observation/visitors room.

Arthur seems to have settled in completely, as he slouches down, making himself comfortable as he talks about how bizarre it is, being in your home, seeing you in these surroundings, all grown up.

You smile and nod as you listen, but your eyes are glued to him and you wouldn't want to look away anyway. You've never seen him look so at ease, so casual, and it's genuinely heartwarming.

But you're suddenly feeling so horribly confused, and no matter how hard you try to concentrate on what you're both doing, you can't silence the nagging voice deep inside, the feelings that keep overriding your thoughts, pushing their way to the front of your mind.

You play board games and cards, the two of you both laughing like old friends. It all felt delightfully natural, and you're reminded of the way he used to do 'magic' as Carnival, when he shows you some card tricks.

"So, its just a matter of counting." He explains, demonstrating how he was able to know which card you picked out of the deck. "Counting and memorising."

"Aha....yeah." You manage to croak, unable to break free of this trance you're in.

He sits back and drags his hands through his unruly mane of hair, pushing it back from his face. Your eyes scan over him, and you can't help but think he's attractive.  
Maddeningly, undeniably, attractive.

You swallow hard, as blood rushes to your cheeks.

You shouldn't be finding him attractive. This is Carnival. Your childhood friend. The adorable clown that brightened up your life.  
And yet somehow your brain is able to separate the two, and whilst the love is still there, that innocent, playful love has been replaced by something much more grown up.  
You'd grown up.

And, oh god. You wanted him.

"You okay, princess?" He asks suddenly, noticing how distracted you'd become.

You blink rapidly, feeling your heart gently pounding away in your chest, making your pulse misbehave.

Your throat clenched. "Um, yeah, sure. Never been better." You look down at your watch, unable to look him in the face, and you don't want him to see you blushing. "Hey it's lunchtime. What would you like to eat? We could order food in?"

"Okay." He draws the word out, sounding deliberately sceptical. "As long as you're alright?"

"Yeah, absolutely. Why wouldn't I be?" You chirp, feigning nonchalance.

You get to your feet, and begin hunting for a takeout leaflet, which you know you have several of, scattered about the place.

Eventually you find one, and after a brief discussion you agree on ordering Chinese food.

"Man, this is so good." He remarks, digging into his carton of noodles. "I can't remember the last time I ate a decent meal. Thank you so much for this (y/n). I wish I could pay you back but--"

"Shush!" You insist, impulsively placing your hand over his mouth, which surprises him. "It's nothing. Please, don't mention it. You're my guest."

You remove your hand to see him grinning adorably. "Alright. If you insist."

"I do."

"But I'll do the dishes."

You raise an eyebrow. "There aren't any dishes, silly."

He casts his gaze around, searching the room. "Then I'll....vacuum the rug."

Laughing, you dig him playfully in the ribs. "Are you saying my rug needs vacuuming?"

Squirming, he laughs too. "No. I just wanna be helpful."

"That's sweet, Arthur. But really, you don't owe me anything."

You switch on the TV and the pair of you eat in comfortable silence, apart from the odd outburst of laughter and playful banter as you both struggled to use your chopsticks correctly.

Contented and full, you settle back into the couch, and to your surprised delight he drapes his arm around you casually and pulls you into him, enjoying the closeness.

"This is nice." He smiles, as you rest your head against his chest, and all you can do is hum in agreement.

You're watching a random movie.  
Well, Arthur is watching it, and you're too busy watching him.  
You're getting away with it, that is until he turns his head to glance down at you and catches you gazing up at him like a smitten idiot.

His dark brows dip into a confused frown, but he's still smiling. 

"What?" He asks, his voice so low and soft, his bright green eyes sparkling.

You couldn't speak even if you tried, so instead you respond by straining upwards, letting your instincts take control.

He doesn't have time to react, as you cautiously press your mouth to his, catching him off-guard.

His lips are warm and soft, and you feel them open as he lets out a small squeal of surprise, then he pulls back, gasping.

"(y/n)! What...what are you doing?" He asks, breathlessly.

"What I've been dying to do all day." You confess honestly.

His eyes widen in shock. "W-what? Wait, what are you saying?"

"I'm saying I've been wanting to kiss you since you got here. Maybe even before that, I don't know."

He shakes his head in disbelief. "No you can't (y/n). You...you shouldn't--"

"Why shouldn't I? I'm not breaking any rules. You won't get in trouble for it. And who cares anyway? No one is going to ask if I've been kissing you, and besides, it's nobody's business."

"But...but, why would you even want to?"

"What?"

He stands, his sudden attack of nerves not allowing him to be still.

"This is me, (y/n). Why would you want to kiss a guy like me?"

"Seriously?" You exclaim, eyes following him anxiously as he paces around in a circle. "Why wouldn't I? I've..." You take a deep breath. Knowing what you're about to say, but helpless to stop it. Because time is of the essence and you feel like if you don't get this off your chest it will drive you insane. "....I've always loved you, Arthur."

He comes to an abrupt stop and turns to face you fully. "You loved Carnival."

"I did, but I'm not a kid anymore. I love you Arthur!"

"(y/n)...you're a...a beautiful young woman." He says with some reluctance. 

Maybe he's having difficulty separating the fact that even though he knew you as a kid, you're now an adult, and kissing you might seem wrong to him somehow.

"Any man would...would kill, to be with you." He continues.

You see him flinch at his poor choice of words, and suddenly you're on the edge of your seat, literally, and then you're on your feet. Unable to resist the urge to pull him into an awkward hug.

"Do you want me to prove it?" You say, challengingly. "I still have the red handkerchief you gave me. I've kept it all these years, because it was yours. Because you gave it to me. I-I sleep with it under my pillow for gods sake!"

He blinks rapidly, clearly astonished. "Y-you do?"

"I do. To feel closer to you, 'cause I'm in love with you."

"But you deserve better." He wraps his arms around your waist, because yours are threaded around his neck. "Someone younger. Someone with money who can take care of you, and make you happy."

"I don't want someone younger or with money." Your hand slides into his hair, and you feel him trembling against you. "I can take care of myself, and you make me happy. You always have."

"B-but we can't be together. I'm never getting out of Arkham. Not legally."

"I know." You can't hide the quaver in your voice. Overwhelmed with the hard rush of emotions. "But we're together now."

Your words must have a profound affect on him, because in the next instance his resistance crumbles to dust.

"(y/n), oh, god. I...I know I've fallen in love with you." He exhales shakily, and you feel the tension in his posture ebbing away so he's melting in your arms. "I tried so hard not to, but I just couldn't stop it. And I never dreamed that you could feel the same way."

You're pretty sure your heart explodes right then and there, bursting with unrivalled happiness.

"Well I do, so don't try to stop it." You whimper, caressing the nape of his neck sensually, delighting in the masculine sound of him groaning. "Show me."

"You...you want me to show you?" He sounds uncertain, but in spite of his reservations his large hands glide down to your hips, pulling you closer. "A-are you sure it's what you want?"

"Y-yes."

Standing on tiptoes your lips meet his as he leans down and kisses you deeply, gathering you up in his arms.

Dear god, it feels so good to be held by him. You're crushed against his solid chest and there's nowhere else on earth that you would rather be. Here. In Arthur's strong arms. Kissing him silly.  
He feels so masculine, and certain. His lips feel like they were designed to fit against your own, perfectly. And he smells so good. The combination of his skin, his body spray, his pheromones...

You take his hand decisively and he lets you lead him to your room.

"I...I've never done this before." He admits shyly, as he gently pushes you back to recline on the soft mattress.

"Neither have I." You smile, kissing the side of his mouth as he leans above you. "Maybe we were made for each other, and us meeting was meant to be."

"I like that idea." Arthur smiles bashfully, leaning back so he can peel his sweater over his head.

You assist with the unbuttoning of his shirt, and he eagerly helps you slip out of your dress.

And there's no more hesitation or uncertainty, as you surrender everything to Arthur, your body, your heart, even your soul, and he willingly takes it all, offering you all of him in return.

And he wants it. So desperately. Now that he realises he's worthy of love, and being loved in return.

There are no words to describe how it feels, to finally give yourself to a man. Not just any man, but the one you've been besotted with all your life.  
Any fantasies you've ever indulged in cannot compare to the reality.  
It far surpasses all of your expectations.  
Arthur is gentle and considerate; mindful of not causing you too much pain, and solely focused on your pleasure.

Knowing it is his first time too, only amplifies the deep connection; forging your bond even further, as the two of you become one.  
He fills you and surrounds you with his love, as if he's always been there.  
His arms hold you tightly but gently, he's around you and inside you, completing you.  
He's the part of you that's always been missing.

You spend the rest of the afternoon in your comfortable bed, making love, whispering tender words of affection, and giggling like the lovestruck fools you are.  
You share a post-coital cigarette with him, then you cuddle up together; your legs entwined, Arthur softly stroking your hair.

Afternoon turns to evening too quickly, but at least you're both prepared for what you have to do.

Still, if you're being absolutely honest, you hadn't counted on it being quite so heart-wrenching as you walk him back to the rear door of the hospital, boldly holding his hand.

"You don't have to." He says, his tone whisper-soft. "People will talk. Word will get out. I don't want them judging you. You know what society's like."

"Fuck 'em!" You exclaimed, feeling brave and impassioned. "Let them judge. I don't care. I love you, Arthur Fleck. And I don't give a fuck what society says!"

Arthur's eyes grow wide, then he burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" You ask, laughing along with him because his laughter is so beautiful and infectious.

"I've just...I've never heard you say anything like that before." He wipes his eyes, giving your hand an appreciative squeeze. "I couldn't imagine you cussing like that. You're funny. And amazing. And special. And...." He pulls you in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. ".....I can't believe that you're mine."

He kisses you fully on the lips, openly in front of the guards and the doctor, who's come to meet him at the door.

"Well you'd better believe it." You grin. "Because I always have been, and always will be yours, Arthur."

Hie green eyes shine as he gazes down at you adoringly, filled with uninhibited love and adoration. "Then I'm the luckiest man alive."

Reluctantly you say your final goodbyes, then he's escorted away inside, whistling happily; a visible spring in his step.

The doctor approaches you slowly, a wry smile on her face and one eyebrow is quirked in apparent amusement.

"Well I was going to enquire how the visit went. But I can see for myself that it was.....a success. That's impressive, and given his good behaviour..."

You blush a little, recalling how bad his behaviour had been a couple of hours ago, when the pair of you were tumbling around your bed. And you're thankful it's too dark for her to notice that your face has turned scarlet.

"....there's no reason why the day release arrangement can't be extended to a weekly basis rather than monthly." The doctor continues. "Who knows, perhaps in time the board might even grant him overnight visits too." 

Your heart swells at the prospect. "Really? Oh wow, that would be fantastic!"

"Hm, I'm sure it would." She quips, giving you a knowing smirk. "I dare say our former Joker is going to be exceedingly cheerful from now on."

"Carnival."

She frowns at you, perplexed. "I'm sorry, what?"

You smile wistfully, already dreaming of when you'll see see him next, and all the things the two of you can do.

"You said former Joker. His name was Carnival."

End


	4. How Much To Just Talk? (Pt.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2part Imagine ~ While Joker runs from the police he inadvertently stumbles upon you just as your dirtbag bf is about to force you into the sex industry.
> 
> \-- 3rd person POV --

Heart thumping in his chest, shoes pounding against the asphalt, Joker skidded to an abrupt halt before turning sharply into the alleyway where he continued to run in a blind panic.

Tripping over various garbage bags, he cursed under his breath, casting his wild gaze around for inspiration. That's when he spotted an open window in the apartment block to his left and rushed up the fire escape. 

It wasn't until he'd forced the window open a little further and had one leg already inside that he noticed a heavy-set, semi-naked guy lounging on the bed.

Well, it was too late now. The cops were tailing him and this was his best chance of escape.

"Jesus!" The man exclaimed, ignoring Joker's attempts to silence him.

"Where?" He retorted, turning to look over his shoulder for comedic effect.

But the joke was lost on the witless oaf. He was far too stricken with panic to find any humour in the situation. Instead he started wailing and snivelling like an overgrown toddler.

Joker placed a finger to his lips, hoping the guy would have enough sense to take the hint and keep quiet, but clearly the idiot had a death wish.

"Don't hurt me! Don't hurt me!" He cried, pitifully, as he heaved himself up from the bed, stumbling to pull up his pants. 

"I won't hurt you if you shut the fuck up!" Joker hissed, casting his gaze around the room. "Is this your place?"

Dump, would've been a more appropriate description. But Joker refrained from being rude.

The man shook his head, no.

"Then get out." Indicating to the window he'd just entered through, he looked-on calmly as the guy tripped over his own feet in his haste to leave.

Just as he was about to climb out, a red-sleeved arm hooked around his neck and pulled him back. "Oh and...you haven't seen me. Got it?"

"Got it." He agreed, flinching as the infamous killer clown pressed a red-lipsticked kiss to his balding head.

"Good. Now get outta here!"

Struggling to get his large build through the window frame, the man gasped and huffed, then eventually disappeared down the wrought iron stairs, his heavy footsteps reverberating as he made his lumbering descent.

Alone now, Joker was able to take-in his surroundings. It was a bedroom, decked out with candles and tacky fairy lights and it smelled faintly like whiskey and incense sticks.

Just then two voices from beyond the bedroom door caught his attention, one male and angry sounding. The other a young female, who seemed noticeably distressed.

"You agreed to the deal, now get in there and take care of business. You don't keep the punters waiting, baby!"

"I can't do this, Tony, please--"

"Quit your whining (y/n). Once you get it over with it'll be fine."

"But I don't want to. Please Tony....there's gotta be some other way."

"Oh yeah like what?"

"....I...I don't know, but--"

"No fuckin' buts. We've been over this. Now in you get like a good girl."

Joker hid behind the door just in time before it opened, preparing to attack whoever came through it if was necessary. The element of surprise would work to his advantage in this scenario.

But a young, pretty girl staggered in as if she'd been pushed and the door slammed shut behind her, leaving him stood there in plain view.

Turning slowly, she spotted him and visibly jumped.

Perhaps she recognised him from TV like the man had. Or, perhaps she'd just not been expecting to find a clown in her bedroom.

"It's okay I won't hurt you." He tried to reassure her. "I'm a good guy really."

Teary eyes settled on his painted face and her bottom lip trembled perceptibly. "A good guy?" She scoffed, thinking how hypercritical it was. Claiming to be a good guy yet paying for sex with a woman so much younger than he was.

"Yeah." He took a step closer and she took one back, so it looked like they were engaged in some sort of dance. "What's your name? It's (y/n) right?"

"What does it matter?" She huffed, self-consciously adjusting the low-cut top that provocatively revealed her ample cleavage.

She was also wearing the shortest pair of shorts Joker had ever seen. Yet in spite of her revealing clothing which left little to the imagination, he was more captivated by her face.

She was by far the prettiest woman he'd ever seen in his life.

"I'd just like to know who I'm talking to." He shrugged. "I'm Joker."

She blinked at him, raising a cynical eyebrow. "Well if we're gonna use made-up names I'm whoever you want me to be."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what I said. Call me whatever you like, it's not important." She glanced across to the digital clock on the nightstand. It's red illuminated numbers reminding her that time was money. "Can we just get on with this please? You're only paying for twenty minutes and you're wasting time."

Beneath the white face paint, his dark brows arched comically. "What am I supposedly paying for exactly?"

Even in the dim light he saw her face flush a deep shade of red. "That's up to you. But if you don't hurry up you'll go over your time and Tony will be real pissed at me."

"He will? And who's Tony?"

"He's my...my boyfriend." Came the reluctant reply. "And you don't wanna get on the wrong side of him, Joker."

"Is that right?"

She nodded, then to his surprise came towards him and awkwardly lowered herself onto her knees.  
Joker watched, transfixed, equal parts enthralled and horrified as she anxiously began to fumble with his belt.

"Hey hey wait a second! What are you....what are you doing?"

She gazed up at him, the confusion visible in her (y/e/c) eyes. "What does it look like I'm doing? You want to score don't you?"

"Excuse me?" He frowned, catching hold of her hands.

"That's what you're here for isn't it? Why else would you pay for the room and....." She faltered slightly, voice wavering with emotion. "....and for me."

The sudden realisation drove the blood from Joker's skin, turning his face as pale as the white face paint. 

She was a sex worker?!

"Wait are you saying your boyfriend, this Tony guy, is also your pimp?"

Stricken, she drew back a little. Clearly affected by his proclamation. "You don't have to say it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that, you're making it sound all seedy and gross."

He gave a casual shrug of his narrow shoulders. "Well it kinda is don't you think?" 

She looked pained as if he'd hurt her feelings. Her pretty face creasing with discomfort. "H-he does love me. There's just no other way. We've gotta make the rent and he's out of work."

"He doesn't love you. If he did he wouldn't sell your body to random guys to make a quick buck--"

"This is the first time!" She interjected sharply, hackles rising. "He said it'll only be a one-off tonight because we're desperate."

Crouching down on his haunches to bring himself to eye-level, Joker smiled sympathetically. "Sweetheart, if you think it'll be the first and last time....you're kidding yourself."

"You don't know that!"

"I do. 'Cause scumbags like that never keep their word. You can't trust him. Why would you even let him do this to you?"

Defensive, (y/n) got to her feet and sat on the end of the bed. "Listen pal, how 'bout you don't judge me and I won't judge you? I mean you're obviously into some kinky clown-type shit, but that's none of my business."

His red lips smiled, making the painted grin appear even more devilish. "Actually I just came here to hide from the cops."

"W-what?"

"So what if you tell me your story and I'll tell you mine? Deal?"

Her eyes skitted to the clock, then back to his face. "I don't....I don't have time for polite chit-chat." In spite of herself she felt tears pooling in her eyes, making them shimmer in the soft glow of the candle light.

"Forget about the time, I'll pay for it." He said flippantly, sitting down beside her. "How much to just talk?"


	5. How Much To Just Talk? (Pt.2)

"I'm from out of town." She said, wrapping her arms around herself comfortingly. "I thought Gotham would be like this amazing, exciting, vibrant place full of great opportunities."

Joker grimaced. "That must've been quite a disappointment, huh? As a lifelong Gotham resident I apologise for how shitty this city is." He was only half-joking but she laughed, which pleased him. 

She sure looked like she could use a good laugh.

"Anyways I was hoping to make a name for myself in show business. Acting, dancing, singing maybe, and I was convinced I'd finally get my big break here." She sighed, shoulders slumping forward. "Pretty stupid, huh?"

To her surprise Joker shook his head vigorously. "No actually, it isn't stupid. You shouldn't give up on your dreams. That's how I got to be who I am."

She frowned, not bothering to hide her confusion. "Who's that?"

"What?"

"Who are you? Sorry, I've no idea."

Joker's brows shot up. "Really? You mean you've never heard of the Joker?"

She bit her lip, looking thoughtful. "Um, no. I really haven't."

"Ouch! You're definitely from out of town."

She gave another laugh, then her (y/e/c) eyes grew bright with excitement. "So are you famous here?"

"Oh yeah." He fished around in his jacket pocket for his pack of cigarettes.

"Seriously? Are you on TV?"

"Sometimes." He smirked, as he lit his cigarette. "Mostly the News and America's Most Wanted."

Her eyes grew wide and he saw recognition dawn as she remembered him saying earlier that he was running from the cops.

"Shit. You really are a criminal aren't you?" She gasped.

"I'm still a famous criminal." He pointed out fairly as he offered her a cigarette.

She hesitated briefly then took one, deciding she was stressed enough to have a smoke right now. She held her hand out for the lighter but he leaned forward and lit it himself like a real gentleman.

"So, (y/n) I digress...you're supposed to be telling me your story."

"Actually the deal was that you'd tell me yours too." She reminded him.

He made a dismissive hand gesture. "Yeah we'll get to that but I want to hear the rest of yours first."

"Well maybe I wanna hear more of yours first!"

Joker's lips quirked in a bemused smile, which made him look strangely handsome she thought, despite the face paint.

"Listen sweetheart, I asked first." He folded his arms, cigarette dangling loosely from his lips. "I can do this all night."

"Yeah but you've got to pay for it."

He didn't flinch at the prospect, just grinned wickedly. "Money isn't an issue. So come on, I'm waiting. If you're waiting for me to give in don't bother. I'll still win in the end."

"And do you always get your own way?"

"Mostly."

She huffed. "Fine, okay. So I tried looking around for an agent but I couldn't afford one. The money I'd brought with me started to run out and I couldn't even get just a regular job. I never realised Gotham had such an unemployment problem. There's literally like no work available!"

Joker hummed sympathetically. "Hm, I know."

She sighed, taking a drag on her cigarette and coughed a little. "Well then I met Tony at a local bar. I'd been asking around to see if anyone wanted any staff. As I left he came after me and asked me out on a date--"

"What just like that?" He interjected, sounding amazed.

"Yeah just like that."

"And you said yes straight away? Lucky guy."

Her eyes snapped to his face and she felt heat flood her cheeks. His eyes met hers and he held her gaze steadily, which oddly made her blush hotter still.

He had gorgeous eyes she realised. She stared into them whilst trying to figure out if they were blue or green. The dim lighting provided by the candles didn't exactly help.

"What are you looking at?" He asked suddenly, breaking her concentration. He was frowning but smiling a little in amused confusion.

"Uh, nothing. Sorry I zoned out for a second there. Where was I up to?"

Joker exhaled a plume of smoke, which curled upwards and clung around his collar. 

"We were just getting to the part where Tony, a seemingly charmless jerk, somehow managed to sweep you off your feet."

"He isn't completely charmless. He made me laugh."

Joker quirked a cynical eyebrow at her. "I made you laugh but you wouldn't go on a date with me."

Unable to help it, (y/n) giggled. "How would you know? I might if you asked me."

"Really? What even though I'm, what was it again, oh yeah...into some kinky clown-type shit?" He burst out laughing then leaned forward as if he was about to share a secret with her. "Has anyone ever told you you're way too trusting?"

"I said I MIGHT that's all."

"But you went out with that loser and you didn't know him, and this entire situation just goes to show how you can't trust strangers."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Gee, thanks for the lecture, dad!"

"Now that's just below the belt (y/n) I may be older than you but I'm not old enough to be your dad. Anyway speaking of belts....how did you wind up here doing this kind of thing?"

"Well....we went on a couple dates and he offered me a place to stay. He worked the doors at the club and I managed to get a job cleaning, even though it's not exactly glamorous."

Joker stood up and stubbed his cigarette butt out on the wall. She watched him in amazed silence.

"You're staring at me again." He told her needlessly.

"You do know the guy who runs this place will charge you for that damage, right?"

"How do you damage a dump?" He cast his disdainful gaze around the room. "He can try and charge me. This so-called damage is still an improvement on the decor. I wouldn't even wipe my ass on those drapes!"

She laughed again. "You're funny Joker."

The words resounded in his head and he wasn't prepared for how her compliment affected him. It made his heart lurch in his chest.  
No one had ever told him that before.

"So, uh, go on...you were saying?" He urged, deciding it best not to dwell on his turbulent emotions.

"Right, well Tony lost his job and the wage I get doesn't even cover utilities let alone the rent. Then he came up with this idea. I don't want to do it but he says there's no other way of making money fast. I already sold all my jewellery and he couldn't get a loan 'cause he's got bad credit. So..." She shrugged. "...here we are."

Joker crossed back over the room, took her finished cigarette off her and threw it on the floor, grinding it into the carpet.

"Are you crazy?"

"A little yeah."

"They'll bill you for that. And for the wall."

"I doubt it."

"What makes you so sure tha--" She fell silent, and they both listened, hearing the sound of approaching footsteps coming up the stairs.

"It's Tony. Quick! You'd better hide or....or lay on the bed...or something!"

"Don't worry about it, just let me handle this." He told her calmly, as he positioned himself behind the door.

She was about to protest when the door swung open and a burly guy with a goatee and tattoos entered. 

"Where the fuck did he go?" His gruff voice demanded. "Did you let him fuck off out through the window?"

"I...I...uh..."

"Well answer me bitch! You fucking dumb or what?"

"N-no Tony."

"Then where is he, huh?" Stomping over to her he gripped (y/n) by her (y/h/c) hair and wrenched her head back, making her howl in pain.

Then suddenly a loud bang rung out making her scream. Tony staggered to the ground yelling and clutching his knee in agony.

"Did your mother never teach you manners?" Joker demanded, sauntering over unhurriedly. "Don't you know that's not how you treat a lady?"

Twisting himself around, Tony saw Joker and his face immediately paled. "Jesus fucking Christ!"

"No, not even close. I'm joker. What is it with you people mistaking me for the son of God? I mean, I have a following and all, but I don't have a beard." He remarked dryly, and (y/n) would've giggled if the situation hadn't been so intense and fraught with impending danger.

"W-what do you want from me? You...you want drugs?" Tony stammered, still visibly shook. "I have some on me...but I can get you more. Anything you want."

"Anything I want." Joker repeated in a low, eerie tone. "Really? Don't insult me Tony. I'm not interested in your dirty fucking drugs."

"What then? Her? You want her? Take her!"

(y/n) gasped loudly. "Tony? How could you--"

"Because he's a scumbag." Joker broke-in. "A lowlife, dirty, rotten fucking scumbag!"

With great effort Tony began limping for the door, dragging his injured leg behind him like a dead tree branch.

"Hey! Stand still and pay attention when I'm talking to you!" Raising his arm Joker fired another shot into the other kneecap.

Tony collapsed on the floor, writhing in agony. "Fuck, man! What's your beef with me?"

"I find your behaviour offensive." Joker replied, walking over he leaned down to take a closer look at him. "Did you know the kneecap is supposed to be one of the most painful places to be shot? I bet there's one place that'd be real more painful though."

Using his foot, Joker kicked him over onto his back, took aim, and fired a bullet at Tony's crotch.

Agonised screams filled the room as he clutched his bloodied groin in his hands while yelling and calling Joker all kinds of profanities.

"Joker vasectomy. That'll stop you producing any little pricks like yourself. Oops, did I say prick? No pun intended."

"Joker!" (y/n) cried in distress, horrified by the scene that was unfolding before her. Like something out of a gangster movie. "Stop! Please, don't!"

But Joker wasn't listening. Instead he calmly took aim again, this time at Tony's head. 

"I still owe you for (y/n)'s time don't I? That is....the time she's wasted on you you piece of shit!"

With that his finger curled around the tigger and pulled, shooting Tony straight between the eyes. The bullet tore through his skull, blood splattered across the carpet and (y/n) let out another scream, then quickly clamped a trembling hand over her mouth.

"You wanna know more about my story, sweetheart? Well this is what I do.." He gestured at the dead man laying by his feet. "I make sure pricks like him get what they fucking deserve!"

With that he pulled a sheet from the bed and began the weighty task of wrapping the corpse up in it. 

"W-what are you doing?" She piped up, voice wavering.

"Putting him in the recovery position." He said sarcastically. "What do you think I'm doing (y/n)? I'm getting rid of the body, obviously. I'm not gonna just leave this shit here for you to deal with."

Grasping Tony under the arms he started to drag him out through the door.

"What about me? W-what am I meant to do now?"

"I...I'll leave you some money, don't worry." He said between gasping for breath.

"But what about the police? They'll come looking for me. You might be used to running from them but I'm not. I'll end up doing jail time for this."

"Okay so I'll leave enough money for you to skip town."

"You'd...you'd do that for me?"

"Of course. He ain't worth the jail time."

"Can't I....can't I just come with you?" She blurted.

Taken aback, Joker let go of the body and straightened. 

"Now why would you want to come with me? Didn't I just kill your precious boyfriend?"

"What?"

"Joker! Stop! Please, don't!" He mimicked her in an exaggerated high-pitched voice. "That's all the thanks I get for helping you. You'd think you'd be relieved to have this asshole out of your life, but no...you pleaded for him."

She frowned, resting her hand on her hip. "Actually, I was pleading for you, Joker."

He blinked at her, his beautiful eyes narrowing in bewilderment.

They were green, she realised, now that he was standing in the brightly lit hallway.  
Green like emeralds with flecks of jade around his irises.

"What....what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that when I yelled 'Joker, please stop' it was because you're right. He isn't worth the jail time. And I don't want you to go down for this." She explained. "I don't want you getting arrested."

"And why's that?" He demanded, his voice laced with barely suppressed scepticism.

"Well...I just don't. You're actually pretty nice, and funny. And...and it would be a pity, you being sent to jail just as we were getting to know each other."

A slow smile of devilry curled Joker's lips. "Yeah? Than in that case I guess you'd better go put your shoes on, sweetheart, and let's get out of this shithole."

End


	6. Give The Guy A Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> : 1part oneshot ~ You work the bar at Pogo's comedy club and feel bad for Arthur so you invite him back to your place and end up seducing him
> 
> Warning ⚠️ NSFW scene ahead...
> 
> \-- 1st person POV --

As you weave through the lines of tables you cringe inwardly.

The place is short staffed tonight and you've hardly had a break. You've been too busy to take five because the place is packed and there's lots of plates and glasses to collect.

You wouldn't usually mind that so much, but being out here on the floor means you can hear the groans and disapproving voices, as customers complain about the guy who is currently up on stage.

You've only been working at Pogo's for a couple of months but you'd seen the guy plenty of times. He was a regular and a bit of an infamous character. Your coworkers grumbled every time they saw him, knowing it was going to be an awkward shift. Awkward because of his odd behaviour. His bizarre laugh that was loud and always came late, never at the punchline of a joke. It irritated other customers and you couldn't help feeling bad for the guy.

That's why tonight when he'd appeared up on the stage your heart had sunk a little. An ominous feeling crept over you, as if sensing his routine might be an awkward performance.

But Jesus, that was an understatement.

This wasn't just awkward. It wasn't just bad. It was a disaster.

The horrible comments fill your ears and you do your best to ignore them, even when a few of the customers ask you outright why the guy was being permitted to continue.

"This isn't comedy. It's a joke, and not a funny one."

"I didn't pay to have to sit here and listen to this freak!"

"Get him off the stage. This is bullshit."

Painful to hear is what it was.

You'd heard the guy laugh before but never like this. It was like he was having a full-on breakdown, laughing hysterically, wrapping his arms around himself and burying his face as he tried to muffle the strained, maniacal laughter.

You saw him gagging, almost choking as the laughs wracked his chest and he struggled to regain his composure.

It was god awful and heart wrenching to watch. Not that your coworkers had any sympathy. Their snide remarks were even worse than the audience members.

"Thank god for that!" Carrie, a fellow bartender, exclaimed. "I never thought it'd be over."

You took the plates into the back and then resumed your place behind the bar, drying off glasses.

"It was....uncomfortable.." You agreed, then admitted honestly. "I feel sorry for the poor guy. He must be mortified."

"I doubt it. He's a total weirdo."

"No he's not, he's just a little strange that's all. For all you know there might be something wrong with him."

Unmoved, Carrie rolled her eyes. "Yeah no shit. I mean, I know I told you you needed to get laid to get over Steve...but I didn't figure you'd be that desperate!"

"Very funny." You huff, wiping down the tacky, beer-stained bar. "Just because I feel sorry for the guy doesn't mean I wanna sleep with him."

Carrie snorts, amused by her own joke. "Hey I'm not judging. If you wanna give him a pity-fuck then I'm sure that will cheer him up. But I won't be surprised when you're never seen again and your body is found in a dumpster."

"Carrie!" You swat her with the towel, irritated now. "Shut up! I'm not into him okay?"

That was sort of the truth. You hadn't actually paid that much attention to the cardigan wearing, bookish-looking, laughing guy.  
You'd seen him carrying a journal. Like, who did that?   
He wasn't exactly your type. But then again you always seemed to be attracted to the wrong type of guy. 

Like Steve. Your ex. He looked great, but was a total asshole. Too full of himself and a complete liar and a cheat. 

Those kind of guys who were attractive and knew they were, always caused heartache in the end. So perhaps it wouldn't be a terrible idea to date someone more sensible and shy next time. Rather than another smart-mouthed, macho jerk.

You go back out to collect the glasses from another freshly vacated table.   
No tip, which was hardly surprising.   
No doubt the laughing guy had killed the atmosphere, as a few parties had made their way to the exit. Thankfully at least it was nearing the end of the night.

As you go from table to table, collecting as many glasses as you can you suddenly spot him coming through the backstage door.

Shoulders sagging forward, his slumped posture seemed to reflect defeat. He looked sad and miserable and it made your heart pinch with sympathy for him.

And then without thinking you were suddenly approaching him. As if your legs made the decision all by themselves and your brain had no say in the matter.

"Hey." You give a friendly smile. What was you even going to say? Shit. You wanted to ask him if he was okay but couldn't bring yourself to do it. "Would you like a drink? It's on the house."

The man blinked at you as he nervously clutched his precious notebook to his chest. "Me?"

"Yes you." You couldn't help giggling. "All the acts get a free drink." 

That was a lie but you didn't care. Shit, even you could use a drink after that performance so you figured he'd sure as hell need one.

"O-oh. Okay." He replied timidly, slowly following you back to the bar.

Carrie raised an eyebrow in amusement as he took a seat at the bar.   
Hurrying round you whispered quickly to her, "Not a word. I just want to give the guy a drink that's all. I think he deserves it. That crowd was brutal."

"Sure whatever." She replied with a wide grin.

Turning back to the man you plastered on your best welcoming smile. "So what's your poison?"

His dark brows furrowed in bewilderment. "Poison?"

You kept smiling patiently. Ever the professional bartender. "What would you like to drink, sweetie?"

A hot flush stained his cheeks, turning his face dusky. He clearly didn't receive many terms of endearment.

"Oh I'll have anything. I don't mind." He said shyly.

"Woah, okay then. Let's see...." You turned and grabbed a bottle of clear liquor and poured it into a glass. "There you go."

"Thanks." He muttered.

He was staring at you now. A bashful smile curling his lips. His bright green eyes were so beautiful. Mesmerising even, and it took a great amount of effort for you to tear your gaze away.

"So what's your name?" You asked, feeling a little churned-up due to his intense eye contact.

"Arthur. What...what's your name?" 

"(y/n). And it's nice to meet you Arthur."

"Likewise (y/n). Uh, so...did you...did you like my act?"

You force a tight smile, not wanting to crush the guy by being brutally honest. He looks at you all cautious and hopeful, so to avoid causing him further suffering you lie as convincingly as you can.

"Oh, um, yeah. It was....different. Which is really good. 'Cause you hear the same old jokes being told in here night after night and the repetition gets old real quick. So your routine was definitely....original."

Arthur beamed at you, his eyes shimmering in the soft lighting, looking suspiciously like he was on the verge of tears. Happy tears. But still tears.

"You really think so?"

You're just about to reassure him when Curtis, one of the regulars and part of the yuppy crowd, scoffs beside him. You'd noticed him approach the bar but was hoping Carrie might serve him, as you find him rude and downright obnoxious.

"Are you kidding me? That so called act sucked. She's just being nice about it. Seriously, do yourself and the rest of us a favour and forget about pursuing a career in comedy. You have to be funny to make it as a comedian."

Your stomach dropped like you'd swallowed a lead weight as you witnessed the heartbreaking look in his eyes. The brightness suddenly dimmed. He resembled a sad little puppy that had just been ruthlessly kicked.

"Take no notice of him, Arthur." You quickly interjected, shooting Curtis your best death-glare. "He just enjoys being an asshole to everybody. Don't let him put you off following your dreams."

Arthur gave a little smile, grateful for your kind words. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it, sweetie."

The drink you'd given him lasted right up until the place was closing and the few straggling customers were being asked to leave. All the while you had been tidying up the bar area and you could still feel Arthur's eyes on you. Following you. Each time you glanced at him he'd hurriedly look away and very unconvincingly pretend to be looking in his journal.

Carrie caught you by the arm as you were stacking the clean glasses on the shelves.

"You've done it now, you know that right?"

You frowned impatiently. "What are you talking about?"

"The laughing guy. He wants you. He's been eyeing you the whole time and he's deliberately making that drink last as long as possible."

Blushing, you shrugged it off. Not being drawn by her teasing. "Whatever Carrie. I'm not listening."

Taking the last few sips of his drink, Arthur continued to watch you closely. He was captivated by you. He'd seen you before and never dared speak to you. But you'd spoken to him and he couldn't believe it. Now he had to make an effort to maintain the connection and the alcohol had given him some much-needed courage.

"W-would you, uh.." He paused and covered his mouth with his hand. He didn't want to laugh. Not now. It would mess everything up so he fought it hard. "...would you like to go someplace after you finish up? I've never actually done stand-up before. I figure that's worth celebrating."

You blinked, the breath hitching in your throat. Not wanting to make him suffer rejection but at the same time you were pretty tired from being on your feet all evening.

"Oh gee, Arthur. I mean, yeah you totally should celebrate. And it's real nice of you to ask....but I'm pretty beat."

His face instantly fell. "Ah, okay. Never mind. I...I'm sorry I shouldn't have asked."

Your heart wrenched in on itself. He looked utterly deflated and it made your heart ache for him. He seemed like such a nice, sensitive, genuine guy. A little shy and awkward and odd definitely, but that didn't mean he was a weirdo.

"No really, I honestly do just want to get home. I'm not fobbing you off." You assured him, apologetically.

He raised his eyebrows. "Well could I walk you home? It...it's really not safe out there for you to be traveling alone."

If any other guy had asked this you'd have dismissed it as a lame pick-up line. But coming from Arthur, who looked so earnest and innocent, it made your heart melt. You actually believed him. Believed that he wanted to escort you home safely.

"I...only live around the corner. But...yeah, okay. Sure."

His face immediately brightened and the adoration in his eyes was almost overwhelming. God he was looking at you so softly, flashing the most beautiful smile, it made you feel such a peculiar feeling. A feeling that confused you but you honestly didn't dislike it.

It felt good.

It was crazy, but you felt attracted to him and he made you feel warm and prickly inside. The way you hadn't felt in the longest time.

"Wait for me out front." You whispered close to his ear so Carrie didn't overhear, and you accidentally breathed him in. The scent of his freshly washed hair and cologne on his neck, and it was damn good.

Twenty minutes later you stepped out onto the pavement and into the chilly, Gotham night air.

Arthur stood at the kerb, hands plunged deep into his pockets, a broad smile on his face complete with cute dimples. 

It wasn't far to your apartment but during the walk he explained how he had a condition which caused unwanted fits of laughter and you listened sympathetically, feeling your heart melt even more. It angered you thinking about the way in which the customers at the club had mocked him. They were ignorant fools, Carrie included, and you made a secret promise to yourself right then and there never to judge someone before you got to know their story.

When you reached your apartment you did the unthinkable.  
You invited him in for a nightcap.

"Listen, I know you want to celebrate, and this probably isn't your idea of having fun, but would you like to come in?"

This was madness. You'd never invited a complete stranger into your home before. Nor had you ever picked up any guy from the club in spite of their best efforts.  
But something about the situation, him even, made you want to be reckless and take a chance.

There was a brief laughing fit before he managed to clear his throat and accept your invitation. How was you to know that this was the most exciting offer Arthur had ever had?

Once inside he took off his coat and sat down in your old armchair.  
That was a bit of a disappointment, you would've liked for him to sit by you on the couch, but he was clearly too nervous and...possibly inexperienced.

"What kind of music do you like, Arthur?" You asked, flipping through your records.

He shrugged, smiling sweetly. "Any kind. I like all music."

"You're a man that's easy to please." You teased, settling on a random record and putting it on. "You don't mind what you drink. You don't mind what music you listen to. It's a pity there aren't more guys around like you."

Arthur blushed and began awkwardly crossing then uncrossing his legs, wanting to rearrange his posture. Sitting up straighter. Trying to look more appealing.

You went to the kitchen and fetched two glasses and a bottle of liquor. Pouring you both a drink, you smiled as you handed him the glass.

"Relax sweetie. I don't bite."

He chuckled and it sounded so cute, and mischievously you can't resist adding...

"Well, unless you want me to that is."

His eyes widen and his knee begins to twitch. Then he takes a huge gulp of his drink. 

"It's uh, a nice place you got.." He manages, though he's suddenly reluctant to look you in the eye. "But is it just me or is it kinda hot in here?"

You fight to hold in a giggle, quietly thrilled that your flirtatious comment has got him all hot and flustered. He's so unlike all the other guys it's intriguing and weirdly sexy, in the most abstract sort of way. 

He slips out of his vest, then turns up his shirtsleeves. The way he's sitting now, legs splayed apart, lean forearms exposed, raking his hands through his unruly mop of hair, pushing it back from his face, affects you deeply.

God. He's so fucking handsome and adorable you could just eat him up.

Perhaps you should take Carrie's advice after all. She preaches that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone new, and while you don't exactly agree with that philosophy, you're suddenly sorely tempted into taking a huge leap into the unknown and seduce this quirky, adorable little bean.

"So Arthur..." You begin casually, swirling your drink around idly as you look at him. "I've noticed you always come to the club alone. Does your girlfriend not like standup?"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "I don't have a girlfriend."

"Really? I don't believe that." 

"Aw, come on (y/n)" He grins, his tone laden with amusement. "Do I look like the type of guy who could get a girl?"

You answer honestly. "Yeah. You're a good looking guy and you're sweet."

His eyes shine as if he's suddenly just come to life. "You think so? It's the laughing thing though. It makes people kinda uncomfortable I guess. And I really don't know how to talk to women."

"Well you're talking to me." You say, cheerily. "If the girls you've met in the past haven't taken the time to get to know you then it's their loss. Fuck 'em!"

He splutters, almost choking on his drink. "You're funny."

You shrug. "I'm just saying it like it is--" Your words dissolve as the realisation dawns on you. Wow. Does this mean he's never had a girlfriend? Like ever? Which must mean he's a virgin.

"What's wrong?" He asks, cocking his head to one side.

You suck in a breath. Your head is spinning slightly, heart pounding against your ribs like a tribal drum. And the alcohol loosens your tongue so you find yourself saying things you would never dare say when sober.

"Arthur....does that mean you've never, you know, been with a girl?"

"I...w-well.." He clutches his chest as laughter threatens to erupt. He scratches the back of his neck, his face now bright red, and tries again. "N-no. I haven't."

Filled with a kind of sweet madness and emboldened by the liquor, you lean forwards and say in your most seductive voice, "Do you want to know what it's like?"

He squirms in his seat. 

"To kiss a girl?" You continue, boldly. "To touch a girl?"

"Y-yea." He breaths, his eyes glued to you.

You pat the couch next to you encouragingly. "Why don't you scoot on over here, hm?"

A tense few moments follow as he swallows hard, then slowly stands up and makes his way over.

There is no time to analyse what's come over you, because as soon as he sits down you are moving. Straining towards him, manoeuvring yourself so you're brazenly straddling his lap.

He freezes, every tendon and nerve becoming rigid.   
Surely, Arthur thought, he couldn't be anything more than an eccentric curiosity to you? Could it be true that you actually wanted him?

"It's okay, sweetie." You reassured him with a playful wink. "I told you I won't bite unless you want me to."

Leaning forwards you claim his sweet mouth in a passionate kiss.  
To your delight he reacts instantly, kissing you back with unreserved eagerness.  
His arms encircle you as you rock your hips against him greedily, gasping as you feel the hardening, masculine column between his legs. 

Arthur gives a deep, satisfying groan from the back of his throat, grasping your waist tightly and moving you against him, searching for further pleasurable friction.

It's been so long since you've had sex and your willing body responds immediately, a deep lustful warmth surging through you, making you undeniably wet.

"A-Arthur." You gasp, feeling his cock harden to full arousal, driving you crazy with the need to feel him properly. "I don't usually do this. I don't sleep with people I've only just met but...I want you."

"Oh my goodness...r-really?"

"Really."

Taking complete control, within a matter of minutes you lay sprawled on the couch, pulling him above you as you devour his mouth with slow, probing kisses.

There isn't much room but you manage to effectively tug at each other's clothing.  
Still a little shy, Arthur unbuttons your shirt but hesitates at your bra. Roughly you unclasp it and place his hands on your breasts. He whimpers as he gently caresses them and rolls them in his palms. 

The feel of your skin is incredible and he instinctively replaces his hands with his mouth, so that he can lavish the hard nubs of your nipples with his erotic devotion, swirling his tongue over them and suckling hard.

"Oh god...Mhm..." You bite down on your bottom lip, clutching and pulling off his shirt.

Driven by instinct, Arthur shakily pushes your skirt up around your waist.   
Then with a quick and impatient tug he pulls your panties aside, revealing the seam of your thigh and that enticing place between your legs that he wants to worship. The sight drives him almost insane with lust and he presses his lips to yours, deepening the kiss, swallowing your moans as he slips his fingers between the slick, hot flesh.

Holy shit, you was so wet.   
Wet for him.  
Arthur couldn't believe it. This was the sort of thing that happened to other guys. Not him. It never had, and he'd feared it never would.   
But now it was.

You pull blindly at his zipper and he lifts himself slightly, fumbling with the buckle on his belt with barely contained frustration in his desperation to take you. Eager to assist, you snake his pants down and then his boxers.

"Are....are you sure this is what you want?" He asks with ragged breath.

You nod eagerly, licking your lips as you look at his impressive manhood. It's thick, lengthy, hard, and without exaggeration...perfectly formed. But admittedly he's alarmingly larger than your ex, which is slightly worrisome.

"Does this answer your question?" Taking his throbbing cock in your hand, he jitters skittishly with excitement as your fingers stroke his large erection. "I want this. I want you. Inside me."

The words scarcely make it passed your throat and he is on top of you, kissing you feverishly. Guiding him into your wet female heat, you cry out in pain as he pushes into you fully with a smooth, wet glide. 

"A-are you okay?" He asks, anxiously.

You nod. "Yeah. Don't stop Arthur, please."

That's all the encouragement he needs. He begins moving and he's immediately lost to pure physical sensation. Lost to....you.

He struggles in vain to restrain himself, pressing your body into the couch with a series of slow, rocking thrusts. As you attempt to match his rhythm by rolling your hips with his, Arthur's movements grow more forceful and sporadic, hitting just the right spot which brings you to a sudden climax.

"Oh....God!..." Arching upwards you press your breasts into his chest as the pleasure wracks your body.

"Shit." He mutters under his breath, feeling your sex clench tightly around him. "You feel amazing (y/n)."

Kissing you fiercely, he begins thrusting with more wild abandon. Your moans stir his blood, making him feel strong and powerful, each delve inwards becomes harder, faster and deeper than the last.

"Oh....Arthur....fuck! You feel so....umm....you're going to make me, ahhh--"

"Does that feel good, huh? You like that?" He rasps whilst relentlessly pounding into you, increasing his pace.

"Yes! You're going to.....you're going to make me come again!" You wail on a sharp gust of breath. 

He groans with pleasure, every fibre of his being melding with yours as his hips keep on thrusting forwards, sliding his cock in and out of you, and it feels incredible.

"Yes! (y/n) please...I want to....I want to hear you scream my name."

You draw your legs upwards around his waist, enabling him to plunge even deeper and rake your nails down his back, making him hiss like an angry cat.

"Aaah....Arthur!" You orgasm with a ragged sob, your entire body trembling and writhing uncontrollably beneath him. 

The tight, wet channel of your sex spasms deliciously around his pulsing length, which sends him hurtling over the edge. 

An animalistic noise roars from his chest as the intensity of his climax splinters through his body like hot shards of lightening. He shudders violently, then stills, rendered immobile as the liquid heat of his release gushes from him in hot spurts, filling you deeply.

Both of you breath heavy as you cling onto each other tightly, like a drowning couple swept away by a tidal wave of blissful ecstasy.

"You're a fast learner." You giggle, stroking his back tenderly.

"I want to learn more." He smiles, nuzzling into your neck. "Will you teach me everything?"

You laugh. There's no way you're going to object. This is exactly what you need right now. A fresh start and a sweet guy. And this is what he needs too. Affection and a meaningful connection that makes him feel wanted.

"Absolutely, sweetie." You bury your face in his tousled hair and it tickles your nose. "I'm more than happy to be your teacher."

End


	7. An Inappropriate Crush (pt.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3part oneshot ~ You've known Arthur for a while 'cause your mom used to be Penny's carer, but you've distanced yourself as you've developed feelings for him
> 
> \-- 1st person POV --

"Mom? Mom what happened? What's wrong?"

I hear his voice in the crowd more than any other. Not because he's loud, simply because it is his.

I feel my stomach wrench, and my pulse quickens as I follow the distinctive sound.

He's right there. And my breathing stops.

Arthur Fleck.

"Stand back please." One of the paramedics insists, pulling my focus back. 

"He's her son." I yell, at just about the same time Arthur tells them Penny is his mom.

He's noticed me now and his worried expression darkens, as he looks at me almost distrustfully.

"(y/n)! What....what are you doing here?" 

He doesn't sound pleased to see me. Quite the opposite in fact, his tone is accusatory and his eyes cold. Making me feel about as welcome as a double glazing salesman.

"Who are you?" The harassed medic turns to me, all patience lost. "Are you a member of the immediate family?"

"I'm his wife." I blurt, gesturing towards poor Arthur, who looks stunned by my proclamation. "Penny's my mother-in-law."

The paramedic nods curtly and ushers me aboard the ambulance, where I clamber up the steps after 'my husband' 

God how embarrassing. Why didn't I just say I was his sister? That would've been less humiliating. But it would've been creepy. It sounds silly I know, but given the way I feel about him. Well...

"Is she on any medication?.....Does she have any medical conditions?..." The medic bombards Arthur with numerous questions and he does his best to answer, but I can see he's struggling. 

After a while the questions stop coming, and a tense silence descends over us. The only sound is the noise of the sirens wailing, cutting a path through the late-evening traffic of central Gotham.

Arthur sits with his head in his hands, perceptibly shaking as if in shock, the fraught situation starting to take its toll and I have to practically sit on my hands to stop myself from reaching out to comfort him. Too afraid the gesture will be unwelcome.

Eventually we arrive at Arkham State Hospital and everything seemed to happen so quickly.

Passing by the line of ambulances parked outside the Emergency Room entrance, we make our way through the wide, automatic sliding doors, following the paramedics as they wheel Penny's listless, frail body inside on the trolley.

Inside, the waiting area is already full. Nearby a man sits pressing what looks like a cold compress to his head, another is pinching a bloody dressing to his nose. Another medic wheels a woman by wearing neck brace and amidst the sound of phones ringing and doctors rushing back and forth, a child can be heard wailing.

Arthur and I are shown to a waiting area, while they rush his mom off into a side room.

He paces back and forth anxiously, his posture bent like a sad, vulnerable child and my arms ache with the need to hold him.

"What happened?" He asks, his tone clipped.

"I don't know. When I arrived there was two policemen at the apartment. I think they were looking for you--"

"What did they say to her? Did they cause this?"

"I don't know Arthur, everything happened so fast. She collapsed..." Voice cracking with emotion, I bury my face in my hands, trying to hold back the tears.

"Why are you crying?" He snaps.

"W-what?" I look up at him through bleary eyes.

"Why are you crying? Why do you suddenly care again?"

"I've never stopped caring!" My heart wrenches in on itself. "A-Arthur, that's not fair!"

"Oh really (y/n), you wanna know what isn't fair?" He rounds on me angrily, those beautiful jade eyes of his look almost black in the fluorescent light and they're glowing like two coals. "What isn't fair is you disappearing on us like you did! Why did you stop calling?"

"I did still call. Maybe not as often but I came when I could--"

"Not when I was home!" He hurls at me, then pauses, fighting to regain some composure. "And...and not as often. We-- that is, Mom missed you!"

I close my eyes, unable to take the sight of his pained expression. His eyes are wounded, frantic and he's got every right to look at me with such unveiled resentment.

I haven't been around half as much as I used to be....

My own mom used to work as Penny's carer. Right up until the state cut funding she visited Penny daily, and during the days when the elderly woman was more mobile she would take her on days out to the park, or to the local church hall for coffee and cake.

That's where I first met Penny.....and then Arthur.

He would often accompany his mother like a dedicated, caring son, and being a volunteer at the local homeless shelter and church hospice, I recognised the goodness in him in spite of his awkward demeanour, and it made me melt.

At first I had thought it was just admiration. I respected him so much for having been the man of the house for so long, tentatively taking care of his ailing mom, and often going without food in order for her to eat.

Then things started to change. I couldn't help noticing the way his thick mop of chocolatey hair smelled like orange blossom and his eyes sparkled like precious green gemstones. 

And that smile.

It never failed to light-up a room when he entered and it had the most alarming affect on me. Whenever he turned my way and flashed that smile, my knees would tremble and butterflies would swirl in my stomach.

But it was bad. 

Arthur is much older than me and even though my mom isn't technically working for him anymore, she strongly discouraged me getting too attached to the son of her former client.

Sometimes I wonder if my mom knows things I don't know about the Flecks, because even though she loves Penny she's always been a little wary around Arthur and never liked me spending too much time talking to him.

So I would keep visiting Penny, not wanting to abandon her as I know how much the social interaction means to her, even though she does spend most of her time waffling on endlessly about Thomas Wayne.  
She's a sweet old lady.  
And Arthur I would avoid. Deliberately stopping by at the apartment when I knew he was out working.

Just then a doctor arrives, shattering my turbulent thoughts. 

"Mr Fleck? Mrs Fleck?"

It takes me a moment to catch-on and realise he's talking to me. Awkwardly I stand next to Arthur, as the doctor informs us of Penny's condition.

She's had a mild stroke, but her condition is stable thank god.

We're then taken to Penny, who's wired-up to various machines. It looks like she's sleeping peacefully and once again I'm brushing tears from my eyes.

"She's gonna be okay." I assure him, placing a nervous hand on his shoulder.

I feel his body stiffen, but I don't remove my hand. I want to be there for him damn it, whether he likes it or not. 

"I'm going to get a coffee. D'you want one?"

He gives a slight nod of the head, then just as I'm about to move away he unexpectedly reaches up and rests his hand on mine, almost possessively.

"Y-you will come back....won't you?" 

"Yes Arthur." I reassure him, fighting the impulse to throw my arms around him and hold onto him forever. Until the pain he feels goes away.

I won't leave you again, ever. Is what I want to say.

But I can't. Not yet anyway. So I don't.


	8. An Inappropriate Crush (pt.2)

I stay at the hospital all night with Arthur, not wanting to leave him.  
Several times he tells me there's no need to stay but I insist, wanting to be there to support him through this ordeal.  
He and his mom are so very close. They're like the centre of each other's little word so I know the whole situation is really taking it out of him.

As dawn begins to break the nursing staff finally manage to persuade Arthur to go home to rest, as Penny's condition is stable and they promise to call him at the first sign of any change.

As we step out into the grim early morning light I shiver and he immediately notices.

"You cold? Here...."

I shake my head and try to protest as he shrugs out of his tatty old coat. "It's fine, Arthur. There's really no need."

"It's clean I promise." He says earnestly, holding it out for me to take.

"I believe you." I giggle. "But you need it--"

"No please (y/n), just take it. I insist."

He drapes the coat around me and I thank him. It's still warm from the heat of his body and I pull it tighter around me.   
It smells of him.   
Slightly smoky with a faint hint of soap and the spicy zing of his cologne. I inhale deeply. Wanting to breath the scent of him in and hold it in my memory forever.

Wow. I've got it pretty bad, I realise, which is bound to just complicate things further.

"Are you hungry?" He asks suddenly, shattering my thoughts. "We could get breakfast?"

I'm beyond tired after being awake all night but I don't care about getting any sleep. In fact I'm elated by Arthur's offer.  
Although his initial frostiness towards me thawed a little he's still been a bit quiet and distant with me, but I've been hoping that's more due to him worrying over Penny than still being mad.

"Breakfast sounds great." I smile up at him as we make our way along the garbage littered street. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well I, uh, don't have much money to buy food but I could fix you something to eat at my place."

Oh. He's inviting me to the apartment which could be awkward. I've never been there alone with him and if my mom finds out she'll completely flip out.

But that adorable little puppy face of his makes my heart melt and I wish he wouldn't give me those looks. They destroy me.  
How can I say no to that face?

"Sure." I shrug.

For the first time since yesterday evening he gives a faint smile and says. "O-okay then."

We walk to the station in semi-comfortable silence and fight our way through the throngs of commuters heading to work.   
The subway is stuffy and uncomfortable as usual, then the walk to Arthur's place is gruelling thanks to those dreaded stairs, so by the time we eventually arrive at the apartment I'm grateful to be able to collapse on Arthur's worn but undeniably comfy couch.

His building is run-down, his home a little shabby but not dirty. It's comfortable and always warm which is a bonus.  
He makes us both a much-needed decent cup of coffee. It's cheap but tastes so much better than what they sell at the hospital. Then he sets about raiding the cupboards, hunting for something edible.

"Um, I got cereal and bread..." He calls out from the kitchen.

I hear him opening the refrigerator door.

"...oh there's eggs too. Do you like toast and eggs?"

I get up and make my way to him. "Yeah that's great. Whatever's easiest. I'll have what you're having."

I hope my last comment prompts him to eat. He's so thin because he rarely eats, surviving on nicotine, caffeine and just the barest amount of food.   
I feel guilty for taking food from him but I make a mental note to leave him some money before I leave. 

He's staring into the open fridge, clutching a box of eggs when I see inspiration strike in his eyes.

"Uh, how 'bout French toast?"

I smile. "Perfect."

Arthur smiles again and this time it's a genuine, heart-warming smile which softens the contours of his handsome face. I blink, feeling like the room has suddenly become brighter, as if actual rays of sunshine are streaming in, playing lovingly on the high arches of his cheekbones.

Stop it, I inwardly shout at myself. I shouldn't be having romantic daydreams about this older man. He doesn't look at me in that way and my mom would never approve.

Efficiently he sets about making our breakfast. The comforting background babble of the radio completes the cosy domestic scene as I sit at the small table and watch him at work.

He sets the cutlery on the table and grabs a bottle of maple syrup, then sits down facing me.

"Thank you Arthur. This smells amazing."

"That's just 'cause you're hungry. It's nothing special."

Oh if only he knew. Knew that this is the best meal of my life because we're sitting here together companionably and it's all very intimate and sweet.

"How's things down at the hospice?" He asks once we begin eating.

"Fine." I say with some effort as I chew. "We're holding a fundraiser on the weekend. Mike has really gone all out on the promoting this time, so we're hoping it pays off."

His gaze remains cast down as he pushes the food around his plate. "Right. That's good." He spears a piece of toast with his fork rather forcefully. "And how are things with the two of you?"

I frown a little in confusion. "Sorry? The two of who?"

"You and Michael." He says the name mockingly and gives a sneer which shocks me.

"There is no us. We're just friends that's all."

"He likes you." 

"Yeah as a friend."

"Aw come on (y/n) he makes it pretty obvious that he likes you more than that."

My eyebrows shoot up, along with the pitch of my voice. "He does not! What would make you think that?"

He shrugs his narrow shoulders as he takes another bite. "You're the only one who can call him Mike. To everybody else he's Michael."

Amused, I let out a giggle. "That means nothing--"

"And he's always touching you. He does it a lot. On the shoulders, on the arms...." He persists.

"You're very observant Arthur." I tell him.

His face colours a little, which seems peculiar. Arthur's timid and shy but I've never actually seen him blush. I'm usually the one blushing around him.

"I notice stuff, yeah." He says defensively. "Just 'cause I don't talk much doesn't mean I don't listen and pay attention."

Perplexed, I take a sip of my coffee and decide to change the subject. "How are things with you anyway? I mean, other than..."

He nods, getting my meaning. "Okay I guess."

"Good. How's work?"

Having eaten his full he sets his knife and fork down and reaches for his crumpled pack of cigarettes.

"I lost my job."

My heart sinks. "Oh no. Why? What happened?"

Arthur lights up a cigarette and plays idly with the fraying cuff on his cardigan. "They didn't think I was funny enough. Imagine that?"

"Really? No way! But I love Carnival. Shit, I'm so sorry Arthur."

His head snaps up and his eyes latch onto mine, staring at me with unsettling focus. "You love Carnival?"

Ah. I swallow hard, feeling a hot blush stain my cheeks. That was a bad choice of words. Carnival is him. I'm hoping he understands that I mean his clown persona, the character. It doesn't mean I'm literally in love with Arthur. Then again I doubt he would suspect that.

"Of course, who doesn't?" I chirp, forcing a smile. "It's a great act."

"Right." He averts his gaze again and takes a long drag on his cigarette. "The lovable clown."

I can't help noticing he sounds sad now, and if I'm not mistaken even a bit disappointed. 

"What are you going to do now? I know you loved that job." 

"We've got moms' state pension, it's not much but it'll get us by while I'm looking for work." He says leadenly.

Without stopping to think I reach across and place my hand on his, which seems to take him by surprise. "I can help out if you'll let me? With utilities and....and Penny's medical bills."

He's been staring at my hand but now he looks at me, shaking his head. "Thanks but I can't take your money (y/n)" 

"Why not? Arthur there's no shame in it."

"I appreciate the offer really, but I can take care of things. I always have."

A thought springs to my mind and I can't resist grinning like an idiot. Pleased with my own idea. "What if you help out at the fundraiser this weekend? The sponsors will pay you for it."

"I thought it was a voluntary thing?"

"Not the entertainers. You're kidding right? They don't do it for nothing. The great Raymondo's fees go up every time and you know how much his magic tricks suck."

Arthur chuckles at the memory of the terrible magician. "What would you want me to do? My standup act?"

"If you want. Or you could come as Carnival." I suggest.

Arthur has really beautiful eyes and they settle on my face again, the intensity of his gaze heats and burns my insides.

"You love Carnival, right? That's what you said. So I'll come as Carnival."

A loaded silence ensues, and there's a lot of this deep-staring going on. It makes my head spin and my throat constrict. My palms grow sweaty and I swear my pulse is racing faster than what's humanly possible.

"T-that's great! I'll let Mike know and he can speak to the event organisers and--"

"Oh so you have to get together to talk it over with 'Mike'?" The sharp edge returns to his usually soft tone and he makes quote marks in the air as he says my fellow volunteers' name. "I didn't realise he was in charge of everything. Is he the boss of you?"

What is wrong with him? He seems to have a real problem with Mike.

"Arthur, he needs to know so he can add your name to the event planner. Please don't be like this. I'm only trying to help."

He stands up from the table abruptly, the back of his legs knocking his chair over with a clatter. "Why do you want to help? You haven't been around for months!"

I stare open-mouthed as he picks the chair up then stalks out of the room angrily.

Standing up, I follow him back into the living room. I can't believe we've come back to this. His grudge is making him behave all unreasonably. It must be because he's so tired. Yes that's probably it. My poor Arthur. No doubt he's emotionally and physically exhausted.

"I thought we were okay?"

He turns away from me and talking to his back is no easier than talking to his face. But I have to fix this. I need to fix our fragile friendship and fix it fast.

"I never stopped coming over because I wanted to. I...I had to." 

He turns slightly, his one visible eye narrowing as he looks at me over his shoulder. "Why did you have to?"

Oh god. I'm so tempted to just tell him the truth before my secret eats me alive.  
But I can't form the words.

"There's been...so much going on. With volunteering down at the hospice, working and school...my grades were suffering and....my mom told me I had to focus harder on my studies. I'm sorry."

Slowly he turns to face me fully, his expression visibly softening. "Shit. Sorry (y/n) I had no idea. I didn't know you had a job to hold down too."

I nod feebly. "I work part-time at a coffee shop in Gotham Plaza."

"Man, you've got so much to juggle. You're going to wear yourself out."

Now he's approaching me, looking at me all apologetically, face filled with concern.

"I shouldn't have given you such a hard time. I'm a fucking jerk. Sorry. Honestly, I was worried you stopped coming by because of me."

His words drive the blood from my skin, making my face grow pale. "Y-you? Why?" I croak.

He kicks at the threadbare rug with the toe of his shoe, his hands plunged deep in his pockets. "I don't know. It just felt like you were avoiding me I guess." Nervously he meets my eyes. "I figured you mustn't like me or something."

Oh god. He has absolutely no idea how wrong he is.

"Of course I like you Arthur. I like you a lot."

Staring at me hard, he closes the distance between us and my heart begins to palpitate wildly.

"Are you okay (y/n)? You look really pale. Did I...did I upset you?"

"No, not at all. I'm fine...just tired that's all."

"Well you can go lay down in the bedroom if you want to. You should get some rest."

Shakily I turn and sink down onto the couch, shaking my head. "Thanks but I'll be fine here. You should try to get some sleep too."

To my dread and delight he takes a seat beside me. 

"I usually sleep on the couch."

"Oh. Sorry. I can sit in the chair then."

As I make a move to stand up he suddenly catches me by the arm and gently tugs me back down.

"Don't be silly it's comfier here. I can take the chair."

I shake my head. "Why don't you go to bed. I'm fine in here. I'll wake you if the hospital calls."

Arthur leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and sighs heavily. "I......I don't want to be alone."

That is a brave thing for him to admit and if he keeps looking at me like this, and saying things like that, I fear I might just say or do something which I'll regret later.   
Like tell him how I feel, or hug him. I long to reach out and just...touch him. To feel him close and find some comfort in him, to hold him and somehow make everything alright.

But I can't. I know I'm incapable of making everything right again, all I can do is sit blinking away tears as he sniffs loudly and hastily wipes his face on the back of his sleeve.

"You're not alone Arthur. I'm right here. I'll stay with you."

His watery eyes stare at me hopefully. "You will?"

And suddenly I no longer give a damn about restraining myself. So I breach the physical boundary and rub my hand across his back tenderly.

"I promise I'm not going anywhere."

At first his shoulders tense, caught off guard by my affectionate touch. But then he relaxes and seems to liquefy. Melting into my caress and turning soft as butter.

"(y/n), you're so kind to me. I don't deserve it."

"Yes you do. You're the sweetest guy I know."

He laughs then grimaces and it's without humour. "You mustn't know many guys if that's what you think." 

He runs a hand through his hair, then scrubs his hand down over his face. He looks so tired and troubled. As if he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Will you hold me?" He asks softly, and the velvety texture of his voice makes all my nerve-endings tingle.

I respond without words. Instead I simply pull him back into a hug and he caves against me, pressing his face into my neck.

"Thank you." He says, his voice muffled against my skin.

I can hardly breath. Too afraid of ruining this perfect moment.

"You really don't have to thank me." I say in a small voice. "That's what friends are for."

He groans and holds me tighter, his head resting on my shoulder and his wavy chocolate-coloured hair tickling my nose. 

We sit like this until Arthur drifts off to sleep, then I carefully rest my cheek on the top of his head and close my eyes, wrapped in this gentle embrace, listening to the soft sounds of Arthur's breathing and the loud thumping of my heart.


	9. An Inappropriate Crush (pt.3)

I wake up and the first thing I'm aware of is a heaviness on my shoulder and a tightness around my middle.  
I blink, waiting for my eyes to adjust, then I turn and my face is immediately buried in a mop of brown hair. Brown hair that smells like orange blossom.

Arthur.

His head is still resting on my shoulder, but we've sort of slumped down further onto the couch, so I'm practically lay down and he's lay against me.  
The weightiness around my middle is his arm. It's wrapped around my waist tightly, and now my heart is racing.

He's just cuddled up to me in his sleep, it's no big deal, I tell myself.  
But that doesn't stop the erratic thrumming of my pulse.   
It feels nice, and it's all very innocent, and yet...undeniably intimate.

Enjoying the closeness, I take the opportunity to sink my nose deep into the soft waves of his hair, and inhale.

God he smells so good. I could just eat him up.

Suddenly he stirs, lifting his head and almost bumping my nose.  
He turns, eyes still squinting from tiredness, and it seems to take him a few seconds to process where he is and what's happening.

Our faces are just a few inches apart. He's so close I can feel the soft gust of his breath on my cheek. Instinctively I know that if I tilted my head a certain way then our mouths would fit together perfectly.  
My face floods with heat at the thought.  
I shouldn't torture myself like this. Why am I being such an idiot?

Just as I'm about to say something to break the heavy silence, Arthur beats me to it. And what he says takes me completely by surprise...

"Are you real?" He whispers in that low husky tone that makes goosebumps rise on my arms.

"Am I what?"

He's looking at me closely, eyes darting back and forth across my face. "I mean, are you really here?"

I frown slightly, feeling quite perplexed by his question. "Yes Arthur. I'm really here. Why would you think that I'm not?"

Those stunning eyes lock with my (y/e/c) ones, and I have to remind myself to breath.  
"I'm not sure. I thought maybe I was dreaming." 

Realising that he's holding onto me he quickly sits up, and readjusts his rumpled shirt. "S-sorry." He stutters.

"For what?"

He stands up, raking his fingers through his tousled hair. "You know...for...falling asleep on you."

I smile at him reassuringly. "You don't need to apologise Arthur. I didn't mind, honestly. I'm just glad you managed to get some rest."

He nods. "Yeah, uh, that's the first time I've slept in days."

"Oh Arthur. That really sucks. You poor thing. Still, at least you've caught up on a little sleep."

He seems restless I notice, dragging on a cigarette as he paces around the room, glancing at the clock.

"I should really go back to the hospital and check on my mom." He says at last. "Are you going to come with me...or?"

He doesn't finish his sentence, and I feel absolutely wretched, even though I shouldn't really feel guilty for having other commitments. But Arthur is my priority and I hate letting him down.

"Oh, I'm due at the hospice this evening. But I can can meet you at the hospital once my shift is over?"

He raises his eyebrows, looking hopeful. "Really? Are you sure you don't mind?"

I shake my head, getting to my feet. "Of course I don't mind. I've already told you, I'm here for you."

His face brightens as he smiles sweetly. "Thank you (y/n). I really appreciate that." 

We travel down in the elevator together then part ways once we leave the building.  
Arthur heading back to the hospital, and me in the opposite direction to the hospice.

The next few hours pass by quickly like they always do at the hospice.   
It's tiring both physically and emotionally, offering help and support to families who have terminally ill relatives, but the work is rewarding. Being able to make a difference in people's lives is reward enough, and that's why I volunteer.

At 8pm I gather up my coat and purse, and Mike offers to give me a ride home.  
I politely decline, explaining that I'm going straight on to the hospital.

He still insists on driving me, and I'm grateful as it means I'll get there quicker than if I had to take the bus. But naturally he's curious and enquires about who I'm going to visit.

"Penny Fleck." I tell him, as we make the journey through central Gotham. "She took ill last night. But...please don't mention anything to my mom, Mike."

Mike frowns, glancing at me between keeping his eyes on the road. "Why? Won't your mom want to know? She used to care for Penny didn't she?"

"Yes. But...I'd rather tell her myself than her hear it from someone else."

To my relief he agrees to keep quiet.   
If mom knew I was spending so much time with Arthur she'd overreact and probably try to forbid me to see him.

If she thinks he's a creepy older man and I'm somehow in danger from him then she's got it totally wrong.  
He's never taken an interest in me like that. I'm the one who's crushing on him.

As we pull up out front for a split second I think I spot Arthur, smoking by the hospital doors. But then Mike leans over to hug me goodbye, and by the time I pull away and look again the figure has gone.

Figuring he must've gone back inside, I thank Mike again for the ride then make my way inside.

When I get up to the ward there's no sign of Arthur, which is odd, and the nurse tells me he's been there all afternoon and left just a few minutes ago.

Puzzled, I get myself a coffee and sit at Penny's bedside for a while, chatting to her in the hopes that she can hear me, even though she's in an induced coma.

"You have to get well again, Penny." I tell her, gently stroking her hand, which is soft and fragile. Her skin feels like tissue paper. "Arthur needs you. He's lost without you." I smile wistfully to myself, thinking about how loving and kind Arthur is. "And I'd be lost without him. I'm in love with your son, Penny. You're the only person I've told. I wish I could tell him but...I don't want to lose him. It could ruin our friendship, him not feeling the same."

I stay at the hospital for an hour, and before I leave I use the pay phone to call Arthur at home. 

"Yeah?" He answers the phone after a series of rings.

"Hi Arthur, I'm at the hospital. I must have just missed you."

"Hm. Okay."

He sounds very disinterested, and if I'm not mistaken, even just a little pissed off.

"Uh, so I can head over to your place now if you want me to?"

There's a pause. I hear him sigh. Then he says, "No it's fine. You don't have to do that."

My heart sinks. He doesn't want me there. We were so close this afternoon and now suddenly he's acting all distant and cold towards me. I don't understand.  
Unless...maybe that's it. Perhaps we were too close this afternoon and it's made him uncomfortable.

"O-oh, are you sure? I didn't think you wanted to be alone?" 

"I'll be okay (y/n). Really."

Internally I'm screaming. I want to yell into the phone that I'm coming over whether he likes it or not because I know he's hurting and I want to be there for him.  
But he's not letting me.

With a heavy heart I have to head home, feeling like I've swallowed a lead weight.   
Arthur's rejection stings. I know it's ridiculous because it's not as if we're dating, but after him opening up to me about not wanting to be alone, all I want is to make sure he's never alone again.

But he doesn't want me. That is, he doesn't want my help or support and I've no choice other than to respect his wishes.

***

The following day I get up early and shower before I head out to work. 

The shift is gruelling. The coffee shop is packed and we're run off our feet. I hardly slept last night and I've got a monstrous headache, so I'm in no mood to be dealing with rude and awkward customers. 

A couple hours before my shift is due to end my boss calls me into the back saying there's a phone call for me.

Oh god. I hope it isn't my mom. If Mike has said something to her about me visiting Penny I'll kill him. I can't deal with that kinda drama right now.

Dread gathers in the pit of my stomach and makes itself comfy there as I pick up the receiver, anticipating my furious mother on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" I say anxiously.

"Hey (y/n)."

My stomach turns somersaults.   
It's Arthur.

"Oh, hi Arthur. Is everything alright? Is Penny okay?"

"Yeah she's great actually. She woke up."

My heart instantly lifts. The relief I feel is overwhelming.

"Oh my god! That's wonderful news Arthur. I'm so happy. And is she doing okay?"

"Well the doctor says she'll have to stay in a while, just to be sure. But yeah she's recovering well."

I smile as I play with the phone wire, idly coiling it between my fingers. "And you rang me at work to tell me. That's so thoughtful. Thank you."

"Uh, yeah. But that wasn't the main reason I was calling." He says.

"Oh?"

Arthur clears his throat. "I wanted to ask you if you'd...well, if you'd come by later."

"To the hospital? Sure--"

"No not the hospital. The apartment. I was...I was being stupid last night. I didn't want to be alone, I just.." He pauses, as if searching for the right words. "Would you come over tonight?"

I'm beaming by now and no doubt it's audible in my voice as I answer. "Of course I will."

"And will you....stay?"

My mouth goes dry. He's asking me to stay over. 

"Uh, oh...."

Sensing my hesitation, Arthur begins gabbling his apologies. "It..it's okay if you don't want to. I get it. Sorry. I shouldn't have asked--"

"Yes Arthur." I interrupt him without thinking. "I'll stay with you."

I hear his soft exhale of breath. "Thank you (y/n). That's great. I really don't like being in the apartment by myself. I...I'm not used to it."

"I understand. Listen I finish shortly so I'll go home and grab some things, then I'll stop by the hospital to say hi to your mom--"

"Oh, the doctor said she can't have any more visitors today. I'll be leaving shortly because she needs to rest." He explains apologetically.

"Okay, that's fine. Maybe she'll be fit enough tomorrow."

"Yeah. She'd like to see you. And your mom. She says she'll visit her too once she's feeling stronger."

Wait. What did he just say? 

"Arthur?" I say cautiously, my stomach clenching in knots. "Have you spoken to my mom?"

"Yeah." He says innocently. "I called your house to speak to you and she told me you was working. She gave me the number so I could call you. I didn't know which coffee place you worked at."

Oh no. Oh no, no no!  
Shit. Arthur why? He's no idea the amount of trouble I've got coming my way.

Feigning nonchalance, I end the phone call and get back to work.

But I can't concentrate at all now. I get orders wrong, give the wrong change, and essentially end up worrying my boss so much that she sends me home early.  
I tell her it's my headache. When really it's the dread of the impending earache I'm bound to get off my mother for this.

I'm just gathering up the things I need to take to Arthur's when my mom arrives home from grocery shopping. And the conversation I've been dreading is finally happening.

"So when were you going to tell me about Penny Fleck being hospitalised?" She demands, as I help her put the groceries away.

"I was going to tell you, but I knew you'd freak out."

"Freak out? I was more freaked out by her son calling up asking for you."

"I'm sorry mom. I should have told you."

She sighs. "You know I don't like you spending too much time with Arthur. I don't know why you take such an eager interest in him."

To my annoyance my cheeks start to blaze, like a testament to my guilt. "He's a nice guy, mom. And I'm an adult now. What's the problem?"

"The problem is he's much older than you."

"So?"

"You need to date someone your own age."

"Mom, I'm not dating Arthur. And even if I was, age shouldn't be important."

Sighing again she stops what she's doing and turns to me, a serious expression on her face. "He might be a nice guy but he's...fragile."

I close the kitchen cupboard and roll my eyes. "Fragile? I know about his laughing condition--"

"Not just that (y/n). He's on seven different medications for numerous things. Anxiety, depression, and others to help with his delusional psychosis."

I stare at her. "Delusional psychosis?"

She nods sadly. "Yes he takes after his mother. Penny was diagnosed with the same condition. If he stops taking his meds he loses touch with reality. Suffers with hallucinations and that sort of thing."

I clutch onto the kitchen counter for support, feeling winded by this new information. "Why didn't you mention it before?"

Crossing the kitchen she takes my face in her hands tenderly. "Because you have such a caring nature I knew you'd feel sympathetic towards him and it'd only make you more determined to provide support for him."

Tears begin to pool at the back of my eyes. "What's so bad about that? It's part of my charity work to support people who are ill and vulnerable."

"Yes but this goes beyond simply wanting to be supportive, doesn't it? You have feelings for him. I've always been able to tell."

Feeling brave, I don't deny her claims. Instead I shrug my shoulders. "I can't help it mom. I didn't choose who I fell for. My heart pretty much chose for me."

She takes a moment to process what I've said, letting the gravity of my admittance fully sink in. Then eventually she smiles, and pulls me into a hug. 

"Well, as long as you're certain of your feelings. Because I was also considering Arthur's too. It's delicate, the situation. If you hurt him unintentionally it's bound to affect him deeply, and he has enough to cope with as it is."

I hang onto my mom and sob quietly into her hair. 

"Thanks mom. But I promise I know what I'm doing. And I'd never do anything to hurt Arthur."

***

By the time I reach Arthur's apartment it's almost 7pm. It's already dark. It's the dreariest evening imaginable, the persistent rainfall refuses to let up and whilst my hood keeps my head dry it doesn't stop my hair from frizzing to oblivion.   
My jeans are wet and I'm shivering with the cold.

It's always warm in Arthur's apartment though. The thought makes me smile as I envisage the small but cozy living room, Arthur sat on the couch watching TV.

Yes. A night in front of the TV with Arthur sounds like pure bliss. Maybe we could even cuddle up again, if he wanted to.

I stand outside his door, dripping puddles on the hallway floor as I wait for him to answer.

The sound of the lock and chain being unfastened greets my ears, then the door opens and...

And he grabs me by the waist and hauls me inside before I have chance to greet him, and before the door even closes his hands are cupping my face tenderly, his mouth is on mine, ensnaring my lips in a deep, sensual kiss.

I can't breath, I can't move, and I don't want to, as he pushes me back against the wall. My hands clutch at him desperately, one fisting into his shirt, the other sliding through his hair.

His lips are soft and warm, but his kisses are firm and powerful. The perfect combination of fierce yet tender.  
And as I move my mouth on his, sliding my tongue against his own, he groans softly which is enough to make my knees go weak.

"A-Arthur!" I gasp, when we're forced to break for air. 

I don't know what else to say. But as it happens I don't have to say anything. The words start tumbling out of his mouth as if he's powerless to stop them.

"(y/n)! This is real isn't it? Please tell me it is. My mom told me everything. She told me after I spoke to you today. Is it true (y/n)? Is it true that you love me?"

Ah.  
So Penny could hear me. She was listening to my confession and she told Arthur everything.   
Ordinarily I would be mortified. But judging by Arthur's reaction I've got nothing to fear. Could it be possible that he actually reciprocates my feelings?

"Y-yes Arthur." I blurt, getting lost in those beautiful eyes of his. "I love you. I've loved you for the longest time but I was too afraid to tell you."

"Shit, (y/n). I wish I'd known. All that wasted time, when I could've been doing this..."

He kisses me again, this time just one, lingering kiss that's soul-deep and it makes my heart feel like it's about to burst right out of my chest.

"Oh Arthur." I breath shakily, as I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him even closer. "I never thought that you'd want this."

"Are you kidding?" His face splits into a wide grin. "I've loved you from the first minute I saw you. That's why it drove me crazy when I didn't see you anymore."

"You should have told me." I giggle, as he places gentle kisses along my throat, which makes all my nerve endings stand to attention. 

"I couldn't risk you knocking me back." He admits, nuzzling his face into my neck. "I never dreamed a beautiful young woman like you would want me. That's why I was jealous of Mike."

Placing my hands on his shoulders I gently push him back so I can look at him. "You were jealous of Mike?"

His complexion colours and he reluctantly meets my eyes. "Yeah. That's why when I saw you with him last night, in his arms, it broke my fucking heart 'cause I thought you wanted him, and I had to leave."

"He was just hugging me goodbye, silly. I'll never break your heart, Arthur." I reassure him as I thread my arms beneath his. "And there's nothing to be jealous of. You're the only man in my heart....and in my head."

"(y/n)." He says my name whisper soft, and kisses the top of my head. "I love you. I love you so fucking much."

We hold each other tightly for the longest time as we stand in the dingy hall. Arms encircling each other, my body pressed against his much taller one, and our hearts beating frantically in perfect sync.

I knew that spending the night with Arthur would be blissful. But I never in my wildest dreams expected it to be as heavenly as this.

End


	10. Once Upon A Time In Gotham (pt.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a request that turned into a 6part story.
> 
> When Arthur meets his most favourite actress (y/n) it's like a dream come true for him and then some. But your meeting is only the beginning.
> 
> ⚠️ warning: will contain mild smut in part 5.
> 
> \--1st person POV--

8:45pm

Arthur was sitting on the packed bus and had been for the past hour.   
He hated Wednesdays, but this Wednesday in particular was turning out to be even worse than usual.

Every Wednesday he had to attend a meeting with his social worker. He resented having to travel across town during early morning rush hour to make the 10:30am appointment, then be kept waiting in the reception area for twenty minutes, only to be asked the same series of questions. It never made him feel better, if anything it only made his anxiety worse.  
Then when the thirty minute session was over he had to go straight to work and face another day of ridicule, mockery, or worse.

Due to a current rail strike he'd been forced to take the bus today which had been incredibly stressful. He'd had a rough day at work, having been chewed-out by Hoyt, then gone straight on to the hospital to visit his mom, who's health had taken a recent downturn.  
And now? Now he was stuck in a traffic jam, on a stuffy bus with lots of fractious commuters who weren't able to catch their usual train.

"The fuck is with this traffic at this time of night?"

Arthur overheard the man in front say aloud, as if to himself.

"Oh, they're filming some movie up on 180-first street, so most the roads have been closed off." A second man explained. "Didn't you see it on the news?"

Arthur didn't hear any more of the conversation. His attention had been piqued by such an unexpected revelation.  
They were making a movie in Gotham?   
Why?  
That seemed like such a highly unlikely scenario. Gotham was so grim and bleak. Why would anyone in their right mind want to shoot a movie in this city?

Deciding he'd make it home quicker on foot, he cut his losses and got off the bus, toting his bag of clothes with him.  
Other than his shoes, he hadn't even bothered changing out of his clown get-up.

Trudging along the dimly lit streets he walked passed the mountains of garbage piled up at the roadside, keeping his head down and not making eye contact with any of the rowdy drunks, or shady-looking characters he encountered along the way.  
The last thing he needed was trouble. He was too weary to take another physical beating after the day he'd had.

Unfortunately for him though his clown costume was a magnet for trouble. It seemed to attract every little punk and grown thug within a 50 mile radius.

"Nice costume, prick!" 

He suddenly heard from behind him. He didn't dare turn around. Just kept his head down and quickened his pace a little.

"Hey asshole, I'm talking to you." The voice came again.

Arthur walked a little faster.

"You deaf, numbnuts? Or is that dumb wig covering your ears?" A second heckler joined in.

Arthur's heart sank. When there was more than one he was bound to get jumped.

Hearing the shuffling of rapidly-approaching footsteps he sprung forwards and broke into a run, surprising himself. His survival instinct overrode his tiredness, somehow finding the will and the energy to flee his pursuers.  
Thank god he'd changed his shoes. Those clown shoes just weren't practical when it came to running for your life.

His heart was pounding frantically as he raced along the sidewalk in a blind panic, then into the road. Car horns honked at him as he haphazardly weaved between them but he paid them no attention.

Finally he reached the staircase that led up to the street where he lived. All he had to do was make sure he beat his harassers to the top, then he'd be in with a chance of making it to safety.

Never before had those 130 steps felt so gruelling, as he took them two at a time in his frantic bid to outrun the potential attackers.

His chest heaved, the cold night air hitting his lungs painfully as he panted for breath, and the muscles in his legs felt like they were turning to jello.

As he neared the top he noticed a sort of barricade had been erected across the stairs in an attempt to block the way. It was a simple makeshift metal gate, which ordinarily would've prevented him from passing.  
But with the echoing shouts and the pounding footsteps trailing behind him, there was no way he was going to risk turning around or stopping.  
Instead he threw his bag over the gate, made sure he had a secure grip on the top then vaulted himself over.

Stumbling a little, he grabbed his bag and set off running again, only to come skidding to an abrupt halt when he found himself blinded by bright overhead lights.

"Cut!" 

Someone shouted, followed by collective groans and another angry voice.

Arthur shielded his eyes with his arm, blinking rapidly while his pupils adjusted to the unnatural brightness.

"What the hell's going on here? Somebody get this damn clown off my set!" An agitated voice came from the other side of the street.

Arthur was standing in the middle of the road but there was no moving traffic. He could see now that the road was barricaded off at one end, at the other a mass of people, and various trailers, as if a travelling show had set up camp there.

To say he was confused was putting it mildly. He was still trying to figure out what was going on and he hadn't yet even recovered his breath, and now two burly guys were rushing towards him.

Instinctively he dropped his bag and assumed the defence position, slightly hunching over, tucking his elbows in whilst holding up his arms in an attempt to shield his head.

"Wait, wait!" 

Came another voice, this one female and a little panic-stricken.

The two huge men slowed to a stop, turning to look at you as you came jogging up behind them.

And Arthur wasn't the only one who couldn't believe his eyes.  
You wasn't sure if this was some kind of joke, a clown running onto the set of the movie you were filming, ruining the scene.

But something about his mannerisms and demeanour alarmed you.  
He looked genuinely terrified when security ran over to remove him.

"Miss (y/l/n), don't approach him. He could be dangerous." One of the security men warned, but you ignored him.

The clown seemed so harmless.

As you reached Arthur his eyes went so wide he reminded you of a cartoon character.

"It's okay you don't have to worry about these guys." You gestured to security behind you. "They're not as scary as they look. They were just going to escort you off set."

Arthur blinked at you. "I....I know you! You're (y/f/n) (y/l/n)!"

You smiled pleasantly, ever the professional. "Yes it's me."

Self-consciously Arthur quickly pulled his wig cap off, and nervously raked his fingers through his mop of brown hair. "I'm a big fan." He flashed a megawatt smile. "Y-you're like my...my favourite actress in the world."

He looked and sounded so sincere it warmed you. "Thank you, that's really kind."

"Hey (y/n)!" Glen Stevenson, the director, called out, sounding even more agitated than before. "When you've finished your little meet and greet, we're trying to make a movie here!"

You nodded, sighing a little. "Sorry Glen--"

"Save it. I need a coffee anyways. Right everybody, let's all take five!"

Other members of the cast and crew began heading toward the catering van, but the security guys still loitered nearby, keeping a careful eye on Arthur.

Arthur fought hard to suppress his laughter by clamping a hand over his mouth but to his utter mortification he couldn't prevent it.

You frowned at him, confused and alarmed by his sudden outburst, trying to figure out what might have set him off.   
Maybe it was nerves, you reasoned with yourself. It could be nervous laughter brought on by him meeting you, seeing how he claimed to be such a fan. It was hard to tell, everyone reacted so differently.

Arthur desperately fumbled in his pockets, then pulled out the laminated card which he handed to you.

"This guy is a nutjob!" One of the security guards remarked, stepping forwards to protect you.

"No he's not!" You told him, speed-reading the card. "He has a medical condition, see?" You showed him the card, then handed it back to Arthur, who was gasping and choking.

"Do you need help? There's a medic on site we can call for?"

He shook his head, as to his relief the laughter was gradually ebbing, but the embarrassment he felt was crippling.

"I'm so sorry. " He rasped, clutching his chest, throat now burning. "It's an anxiety thing."

"No need to apologise." You assured him, placing a hand gently on his arm. "Are you okay?"

Arthur stared down at your hand, unable to believe that you were actually touching him. Him!  
Plain old Arthur Fleck.

There was a long pause before he managed to respond. "Uh, yeah. Thanks." He looked around nervously, taking everything in. "I didn't realise that you were...that this was..." He was lost for words. "I...I'm sorry I interrupted your filming."

"Don't worry about it. Is everything okay though? You seemed to be in a hurry when you came running up here."

"Oh, yeah. I was being chased."

"Chased? By who?"

Arthur shrugged. "Some guys."

"Why were they chasing you?" 

"Because of the costume." He said sadly. "It happens all the time."

You gave a sympathetic nod of the head. "That's terrible. But if you don't mind me asking, if it happens all the time does that mean you often dress as a clown?"

"Um, well I kinda have to." He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "It's my job. I entertain kids, spin signs. That kinda thing."

"Ah, right. That makes sense."

Feeling sorry for him, you wanted to try and do something nice to cheer him up. 

"Would you like to stay and watch the filming?" You asked. "This is the last scene of the night. You don't have to but you're welcome to--"

"Yes!" He exclaimed, his eyes visibly brightening. "That would be amazing! Thank you so much!"

"No problem. I'll show you where you can stand. Would you like a coffee or something?"

As you led Arthur over to the line at the catering van, you ignored all the curious looks the rest of the crew were giving you.

Arthur couldn't believe this was really happening. In fact he was starting to worry that maybe he'd drifted into one of his daydreams again.

"So, mysterious clown, if you're sticking around as my guest I better know your name." You giggled. "You already know mine."

"Oh, sure. It's Arthur." He chuckled. "Arthur Fleck."

As he gazed down at you his eyes sparkled in the lights that hung overhead. They were a beautiful shade of green, you noticed, and very piercing.

"It's nice to meet you, Arthur."

***

When Glen was finally satisfied with the final take you almost wanted to cry with relief.  
It had been an exhausting and emotionally draining day, with this particular five minute scene alone taking two hours to shoot.  
Your co-star had been particularly annoying and Glen was excessively fractious.

An assistant from the wardrobe department handed you a warm coat, which you pulled around you tightly, shivering due to the bracing late night air.

You almost robotically made your way towards your trailer, when suddenly the producers assistant rushed over, reminding you about your 'guest' which came as a bit of a surprise. From where he'd been standing with the other few guests on set, he wouldn't have had much of a view and he certainly wouldn't have been able to hear any of the dialogue. You'd half expected him to grow bored, or be too tired and cold to want to stick around until the end.

But he had, and you noticed him easily amongst the others thanks to his clown costume.  
He saw you approaching and smiled, prompting you to smile back at him.

"I'm sorry that must've been so boring for you, Archie."

His face fell. The expression of happiness crumpling into a look of saddened discomfort.  
His little clown face looked so cartoonishly tragic that you felt your gut twist a little.

"What's wrong?" You ask, concerned.

"It's Arthur." He said in a small voice.

"Arthur, right! Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry."

He gave a weak smile. "It's okay. I'm a forgettable kinda guy."

The twisting of your gut became a full-on knot.  
The poor guy. He'd been chased earlier by some random jerks, frightened by security, he'd waited around loyally in the cold when there hadn't even been anything remotely interesting to see, and now you'd gotten his name wrong and hurt his feelings.

"Hey, don't say that. It's just been a crazily long day, Arthur. Please, I didn't mean to--"

"Hey, you don't have to apologise to me." Arthur insisted gallantly, even though he believed that if you'd kicked him in the balls it would've hurt less than you forgetting his name. "Thank you so much for letting me stay. This is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. You can hardly see anything from back here."

He shook his head. "It doesn't matter. I feel so honoured that you gave me the opportunity."

Bless him. Anyone would think you'd offered him the role of the leading man. He was so genuine and grateful, and you found that so refreshing.   
Very refreshing.   
You didn't really meet that many genuine people anymore. Or grateful ones for that matter.

"Aren't you cold?" You asked, eyeing his thin, colourful, clown jacket.

He shrugged. "It's worth it, being here. Besides I only live right there." He indicated to the apartment building across the road. "I'll be home in like, less than a minute."

"Oh, so you don't have far to go. I was going to offer you a ride. My driver could've dropped you." The words came out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. 

Many people accused you of being overly generous, which you knew you were. Or had been in the past with the wrong people. But this guy was different. You felt he deserved a little kindness.

Arthur was stunned by what you'd just said. He was furious with himself for having ruined such an opportunity for himself. It was too late now though. He couldn't exactly say that he lived someplace else just to spend some more time with you.

"Oh, um..." His mind was frantically searching for something to say. "If you're cold...you could always come to my place for some tea?"

Taken aback, for some reason all you could manage to say was, "Tea?" 

Wondering if perhaps your initial instincts had been wrong. Was he inviting you to his place hoping for something more? He certainly didn't seem like that sort of guy. But due to your film star status and past experiences, you'd become a little sceptical and paranoid.

"I have coffee too, if you don't like tea." He added earnestly. "I just said tea 'cause that's mostly what I drink. Caffeine doesn't help my insomnia you see."

Feeling relieved as much as you were amused, you couldn't keep from giggling at his sweetness. A lot of women would probably find this awkward, eccentric, naive man too odd to be around. But there was an innocence to him that you found so charming.  
He couldn't be more different to the usual type of guys who claimed to be your biggest fan.

Arthur stood waiting with bated breath, not daring to hope that you'd accept his offer, yet he knew if you walked back out of his life right now, he'd forever hate himself for opening his big, fat mouth too soon about where he lived.

But, instead he found himself subtly pinching his own wrist as hard as he could. Checking to make sure he was awake, when you gave a casual shrug of your elegant shoulders, smiled your beautiful smile at him, and uttered the words he'd never imagined to hear...

"Sure, okay then. Why not?"


	11. Once Upon A Time In Gotham (pt.2)

Arthur stood in his tiny kitchen, stirring two steaming mugs of tea, his mind in a whirl.

He was struggling to believe that you were actually here in his apartment. It seemed too fantastical. But it was definitely happening. You weren't just a figment of his fevered imagination. But the more he processed it, the more nervous he became.  
Perhaps inviting you wasn't the best idea after all.

"I'm really sorry about the mess." He called out, saying the exact same thing he'd said at least three times already.

"It's not a mess." You insist, smiling as he came back into the room and handed you your tea. "Thank you."

You watched as he set his own cup on the coffee table and began tidying things away.  
Several of his freshly laundered shirts were hung on various doors to prevent them from creasing. Arthur didn't have a wardrobe and the living room was where he slept. Which was hardly glamorous.

His eyes slid over to the blanket and pillow which were still on the couch. No doubt you'd seen them, which was mortifying for him. 

She must think I'm a total slob, he grimaced, tormenting himself with the thought, or some sort of overgrown man- child.

You watched, silently amused, as he grabbed the pillow to move it. "Arthur, please, there's no need to make a fuss. Your home is fine."

Folding up the blanket he shook his head. "It really isn't. There's only one bedroom, which my mom has. There's not enough space for anything. I bet you've never been anywhere as shabby as this place."

Trying to reassure him, you decided to be completely honest and tell him about your humble beginnings. "Actually...it's not dissimilar to a lot of the places I've lived."

He stopped what he was doing and looked at you incredulously. "Really?"

You nodded. "Really. My life hasn't always been glitz and glam, believe me. I was raised by a single mom. Money was tight, and we moved around a lot."

Taking a seat in the armchair, he took a sip of his tea. "That must've been hard."

"Yeah. It was. But hey, who's life is perfect?"

He hummed in agreement. "True. Although it must be great now, right? I mean, you can live anywhere you want. And you don't have to struggle for money any more."

You contemplated this for several moments, getting a bit lost in your own thoughts. "Yes. Yes I suppose I shouldn't complain."

Tilting his head, Arthur studied you closely as you stared off into the middle distance. You were so beautiful. He'd seen you on TV so many times, that same lovely face.  
But although you were even more stunning to him in person, there was also a distinct sadness in your expression, making you look troubled and almost a little bit lost.

"Aren't you happy?" 

Your eyes snapped to his face. His blunt question catching you off guard. He realised immediately that he'd made a big mistake, blurting out a question like that.

"I'm so sorry Miss (y/l/n). I shouldn't have...I shouldn't have asked you that."

"N-no, its okay. There's no need to apologise."

"There is. It was too personal." 

He stood up and mumbled an excuse about needing to use the bathroom, and hurried off before you could try to reassure him that he hadn't done anything wrong.

Scurrying into the bathroom, Arthur shut the door and glared at himself in the mirror above the sink. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" He asked his reflection.   
If it wasn't bad enough him being painted-up like a clown now he was acting like one.  
Irritated, he filled the basin with warm water and lathered the soap between his large hands, intent on washing his makeup off before he faced you again.

Meanwhile you sat drinking your tea, enjoying its rich, warm, flavour. You hadn't had tea in years and it brought back memories of your childhood. When times were undeniably hard but things were simpler. When the people in your life had been so much more....real.

Several minutes later Arthur returned, drying his face roughly with a towel.  
You gazed up at him, at his makeup-free face, and blinked in surprise at his sharp cheekbones and pillowy lips. The dark brows that framed those exquisite eyes of his.  
Who'd have thought it? Beneath all that face paint Arthur was undeniably handsome.

"Ah, so that's what you look like." You remarked playfully, with a wry smile.

He blushed, returning your smile with a bashful one of his own. "Oh, uh. Y-yeah."

He could feel your eyes on him as he settled back into the worn armchair. He wished you wouldn't look at him so intensely. It made him feel self-conscious and shy.

He gave a small cough and cleared his throat. "So, um, do you like your tea?"

"Yes, it's lovely. Thank you. I needed it." You wrapped your hands around the mug, enjoying the warmth on your fingers.

It was so warm and comfortable in the apartment, you found yourself not wanting to leave. The thought of having to swap this homely coziness for an empty, characterless hotel room made you feel strangely homesick for a place like this. For something that felt like this.

"Arthur?"

"Yeah?"

"You know you don't have to feel bad for asking me if I wasn't happy."

"Please, Miss (y/l/n), you don't have to say that--"

"And you don't have to keep calling me Miss (y/l/n)." You told him. "Please, call me (y/n). I'm not royalty, there's no need to be all formal."

"(y/n)." He repeated, seemingly in awe. "Wow. Thank you."

"For what?" You giggled. "It's only my name. I'm only human, Arthur. You don't have to stand on ceremony for me. I get kinda tired of everybody doing that if I'm honest."

"Sorry. It just seems so personal."

Meeting his eyes you suddenly found yourself saying exactly what you were thinking, surprising yourself as well as him. "I want a little more personal in my life. I think I need it, actually."

To your amazement Arthur suddenly rose and came to sit on the opposite end of the couch, turning his body towards you. His gaze was intrusive and made you feel exposed, vulnerable even, as if he could see into the very depths of your soul and was peering into the dark corners where your personal demons hid.

"Are you okay? 'Cause you look really sad."

Tears pricked the back of your eyes and you struggled to blink them away.   
Shit. You were being ridiculous. You'd accepted this mans invitation to have tea and now you were, what? On the verge of an emotional breakdown because you'd been reminiscing and contemplating the current state of your personal life?  
You needed to get a grip.

But unlike the others, Arthur seemed to sense there was something lurking beneath the surface. He wasn't fooled by a perfect smile like the rest of them. To him the smile looked forced, broken.  
And he wasn't wrong.

"Ignore me, I'm just tired and emotional. It's exhausting." You sighed.

He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "What? Filming?"

"Well yeah, but...just the whole thing, you know? This jet-set lifestyle. People think it must be great, and I know I must sound ungrateful, but sometimes I'd give anything for...this." You make a sweeping gesture to the room, as well as Arthur, who notices you also included him.

"This?" He enquired questioningly, a little mystified. 

"Yes, just all of it. A small, cozy place where I can hide from the rest of the world, with good company."

Holy shit, he thought. You'd referred to him as good company and it knocked the air out of his lungs.

"Oh. Right. Yeah I guess it must be hard always being in the public eye."

You nodded eagerly, suddenly feeling unburdened as you gave voice to all your grievances. Nobody else ever really listened, so this was a novel experience for you.

"It's draining. And the people, all the agents, celebrities, showbiz-types, they're all so false. Fake, plastic people wearing imaginary smiles, waiting to stab you in the back. They just use you and...well, it's been starting to get to me lately."

"Shit, (y/n). I had no idea. No wonder you're feeling sad."

His gentle voice was soothing, and his honest, open face looked so kind.   
It was in that moment you realised why you'd taken the risk of coming here instead of taking security's advice. You wanted to make more of your own choices and that included taking more chances. You'd been pining for something that Hollywood and all the hangers-on couldn't give you. 

When you'd met Arthur you'd been struck by the realism. He was just a regular guy facing his own personal struggles and he didn't want anything from you. He hadn't even asked for an autograph, in spite of being a fan. And it was like a breath of fresh air.  
Being here with him made such a refreshing change from the film star crowd you was used to back home.

"Thank you, Arthur." You sniffled, still fighting to hold back tears. "I appreciate your kindness. I shouldn't be rambling on to you about my problems, you don't even know me. It's just...for some reason I don't feel like I have to fake a smile with you, like I do with the others. None of them really want to know the real me."

Fumbling in his pocket, he pulled out a clean handkerchief and handed it to you. "I want to." He said in a low, timid voice. "I'd like to know you properly."

Smiling fondly at him, you thanked him again. Then steered the conversation towards him. "Enough about me, tell me more about yourself, Arthur. I want to know you too."

After a little more cajoling he cautiously began to open up, and you listened sympathetically. He told you about his mother and her illness. How he'd always been the man of the house and the strain it put him under. How he dreamed of becoming a standup comedian, which culminated in you pestering him to tell you a joke.   
He refused repeatedly, until eventually he gave in to your unwavering persistence.

Reaching for his journal on the coffee table, he thumbed through the pages until finally settling on one he thought might make you laugh.

"Okay here's one. Why did Sally fall off the swing?"

You shook your head.

"Because she had no arms."

Your eyes widened.

"Knock knock?"

"Who's there?" You supplied.

Arthur grinned, trying to suppress a chuckle. "Not Sally."

You covered your mouth with your hand. "Oh shit. Arthur that's pretty dark." You burst out laughing, in spite of yourself. "I love it!"

His eyes sparkled, never leaving your face. "You do?"

"Yes. I've got quite a dark sense of humour too. That was funny."

Beaming, Arthur collected your empty mugs and stood, puffing his chest out with pride.  
He'd made you laugh, and it meant everything to him.

"Do you want some more tea?" He asked, crossing his fingers behind his back in the hopes that you'd say yes.

And you were about to, until you caught sight of the clock on the wall behind him.  
It was already 1:30am. 

You groaned, rubbing your temples with your fingertips. "Gee, I'd love to Arthur but I have another really early start. I've got to be in wardrobe by five AM."

His heart sank, but he nodded understandingly. "Oh. You'd better get some sleep then. I'm sorry I kept you talking."

"Are you kidding?" Pulling on your coat, you gave him a bright smile. "I enjoyed it. And I should thank you for being such a good listener. Talking with you has been the best therapy."

He smiled softly. "Anytime. Oh, I mean, I'm happy to help."

"Can I use your phone to call my driver?"

He nodded, gesturing for you to follow him to the kitchen.

Within less than ten minutes your driver had arrived.   
Arthur gallantly walked you out, wanting to keep you safe, and a small, selfish part of him also wanted to remain in your presence for as long as possible, so even those few minutes it took to ride the elevator down and see you safely to the car, were precious.

"Are you going to be in Gotham long?" He asked as he opened the backseat door for you.

Your heart lurched a little. He was such a gentleman. Such attentiveness was a rarity within the circles you moved in.

"Quite a while yet." You told him. "We've got so much left to film, and Trent is being impossible."

"Trent?"

"Yeah, Trent Cipriani, my co-star." You made a face, making Arthur chuckle.

"That bad, huh? What movie are you making?"

"It's a romantic comedy." You rolled your eyes. "But I'm not supposed to give away the plot or title, it's in the contract."

"Oh." Arthur's face fell. "I thought it might be a horror, with it being filmed in Gotham."

You laughed, and he forced his face into something that resembled a grim smile.  
Really he wanted to ask about Trent, because the name seemed familiar and his mind was starting to match an image to it.

Trent Cipriani.  
He was that young, chiselled-jawed heartthrob with blonde hair, a tan, and perfect straight, white teeth.  
And you were filming a romantic movie with him.   
The smug bastard.

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Arthur." You said, pulling his attention back just as his thoughts were spiralling bitterly.

Arthur knew he had no right to be so irrationally jealous, but he couldn't help it.  
He adored you. He'd seen the two movies you'd been in, and had watched every episode of the show that you'd starred in.  
Now that he'd met you his crush had upgraded to adoration. You were everything a guy could ever dream of, and....and he wanted you, obviously.  
But no, he wouldn't torment himself like that. It was safer to stick to fantasising, and at least he would have his memories of tonight.

"Thank you for keeping me company." He blurted unintentionally. "It's been amazing. You are amazing."

Impulsively, you reached out and pulled him into an unexpected hug, pressing his tall, lean body to yours.  
Reeling from the shock, Arthur shakily wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly in return, not wanting to ever let go.

"I wish I could take your sadness from you." He whispered, burying his face in your hair. "It'll be okay."

Your heart jack-knifed in your chest. His kind words were said sincerely. He was the first man who'd ever said anything so sweet to you, and you believed he meant it.   
"Thank you. You're a beautiful person, Arthur. Inside and out. Don't ever change."

Aware of your driver sat waiting, and no doubt watching, you reluctantly broke the embrace and climbed into the car.

Your heart was misbehaving. Turbulent emotions taking you over, tempting you into doing something even more reckless.  
How was it possible to care for someone you'd only just met?  
But you did care. And it appeared he cared for you in return, otherwise he wouldn't have been so kind, or held you so gently but tightly.

And damn, it had felt good to be held in someone's arms like that. So comforting yet assuredly.  
Despite his frail stature he'd felt strong and warm, and...like home.   
But a home you'd never known.

Overcome with sweet madness, you hurriedly wound down the window and spoke to him just in time before the car pulled away from the kerb...

"H-hey, Arthur....if you're free sometime, maybe we could do this again?"

His green eyes widened in astonishment, filled with cautious hope. "S-sure. How 'bout tomorrow?" He regretted his eagerness instantly, wondering if he was being too pushy. Too desperate.

"Tomorrow's great. I can come by as soon as we've wrapped-up filming for the day."

A slow smile curled his lips, until he was grinning deliriously with joy. "Perfect." He managed casually, trying to adopt a 'cool guy' approach.

"You're perfect." He whispered quietly beneath his breath.   
You waved as he stood at the roadside watching your car disappear into the night. Once it was out of sight he jumped and punched the air in triumph, shouting "yeeeessss!"

And that night Arthur Fleck fell asleep contentedly on his couch. A goofy smile on his face, and his head full of you.


	12. Once Upon A Time In Gotham (pt.3)

The filming of the movie went on, the days turned to weeks, and if it hadn't been for Arthur you were pretty sure the time would've dragged unbearably.

But thanks to his company and kindness time seemed to fly by.

Having tea at his place had become a tradition, and he was always willing to offer a sympathetic ear when you'd had a particularly gruelling day and needed to vent your frustrations, and you'd happily listen to him bemoan his troubles in return.

One thing you most definitely had in common was shitty coworkers, and even though neither of you had met the others work colleagues, you were still both able to relate.

By the third week into filming you already considered Arthur a friend, which surprised not only your fellow actors but also you yourself.  
Ordinarily you found it extremely difficult to trust, due to having been taken advantage of in the past.   
Yet with Arthur, trusting him came completely naturally. You didn't feel as if you had anything to fear. He wasn't the type of person to go selling his story to the press, disclosing your secrets. 

As for the other actors, once they invited you to hang out with them for drinks at the hotel and you politely declined, they took it as a personal offence.   
They questioned what you were doing with your time, to which you'd reply with,   
"Visiting a friend."

"Who do you know in Gotham?" Trent sneered. "What, you've made a new friend already? That's not like you."

Pfft. As if he knew you well enough to comment.

Once you'd turned his invitation down, from then on you were snubbed off set, but it didn't really bother you. Even though you knew they'd be gossiping and bitching behind your back, you still wouldn't trade Arthur's company for theirs.   
He was real, genuine, and kind. All of which were very desirable attributes.  
Attributes you'd sorely missed since your career had taken off.

You hadn't had a real, honest, dependable friend or lover since moving to LA, and now that you'd been blessed with Arthur entering your life it made all the rest seem even more shallow and fickle than before, and more than once you found yourself wondering how you'd ever managed without him in your life.

You'd already realised that you'd very much want to stay in touch with him once shooting had wrapped, but by the fourth week the thought of having to go back home and say goodbye to him made you unfathomably sad.

How could you have grown so attached in such a short space of time?   
You had absolutely no idea, but you decided not to start overanalysing it and just make the most of your time with him instead...

"Are you working tomorrow, Art?" You asked one evening, as you sat together on the couch watching TV.

Arthur exhaled a plume of smoke from his cigarette. "Yeah I'm at the children's hospital. Why?"

"Oh, it doesn't matter."

"No please, tell me." 

You made a flippant gesture with your hand. "It's my day off, and I thought I'd actually give work a break for a change."

Arthur sat back, surprised. Of course you'd had days off before, but usually you spent them learning new lines due to the script constantly being altered.

"Did you have something in mind?" He asked, eyes bright with anticipation. 

You shrugged a shoulder. "Nothing in particular. I was just going to ask if you'd mind showing me around Gotham and maybe have dinner. I haven't had chance to take-in the sights yet and--"

"Yes!" He interjected, almost making you jump.

You frowned a little. "But you're working."

"I'm only booked for the morning. I usually finish up there around lunchtime."

You felt your smile stretching wide across your face. "That's great! So you'll be my tour guide for the afternoon?"

Arthur beamed, his smile showing in his eyes. "Absolutely. I'd love to."

He didn't care that you'd playfully referred to him as your tour guide, you'd asked him to show you around and have dinner. That was the nearest he'd ever come to being asked out on a date. The fact it was you asking made it a million times better.

The following day you met him at the entrance of Sheldon Park, him having suggested it as a good place to start. In the grounds was the botanical gardens, Wayne House, a garden maze, and a birds of prey aviary.

When your driver pulled up you spotted Arthur before he'd noticed the car. He was pacing back and forth anxiously, one hand smoothing down his wind-tousled hair, the other clutching a single red rose.

Your heart melted.

You sat watching him for several moments before exiting the car, just observing him from a distance. Admiring his thick mop of wavy brown hair. The sharp contours of his face. He was an attractive man. Not in the classical sense, like the majority of the Hollywood hunks, but he was still handsome nonetheless.

As you watched him from afar, it felt as if you were seeing him in a whole new light.  
Thinking about how gentle he was, and awkward and shy, he was nothing like the arrogant, self-assured actors you'd dated in the past, and you loved that about him.  
In his own way he was perfect. 

Whoa, you had not seen that coming. Maybe you'd been in denial not to. But you felt all the air leave your lungs on a ragged breath.

"Hey you." He said, smiling a heart-stopping smile when he saw you approaching.

You were already grinning from ear to ear. "Hey yourself." 

You both stood for a moment in silence, smiling goofily and looking into each other's eyes. Neither of you knowing what to say, waiting for the other to speak first.

"Is that for me?" You said finally, indicating to the rose between his long fingers. "It's beautiful."

He coughed gently. "Oh, uh, y-yeah. I um, hope you like roses."

He handed it to you shyly, now suddenly reluctant to meet your eyes. 

"I love them! Thank you, Art. That's so sweet." 

You leaned in and gave him a small kiss on the cheek, trying not to giggle when his face turned almost as red as the rose.

Damn, he was adorable.

Once Arthur managed to recover his scattered thoughts, he gallantly offered you his arm and led you through the gates into the park.

The park was once the grounds to the old Manor House known as Wayne House, the former ancestral home of the affluent Wayne family prior to them relocating to their current residence Wayne Manor.

After having taken the guided tour around the house, you wandered around the grounds leisurely, admiring the botanical gardens.

It was a surprisingly sunny day for the time of year. You ate ice cream and sat by the fountains, playfully splashing Arthur with water. To your delight and surprise he chased you, jokingly threatening to throw you in. And for some reason having him chase after you gave you a slight thrill.  
When he eventually caught up with you he amazed you with his hidden strength as he managed to sweep you up off your feet in one swift motion, making the breath hitch in your throat.

"I've got you now (y/n)." Arthur chuckled, holding you over the water.

You squealed. "Art, don't you dare! Aah, please don't drop me!"

He moved away from the fountain, still cradling you in his arms while you clung to his neck, giggling.

"I wouldn't drop you." He assured you. "You're safe with me."

Looking up at him smiling, you suddenly realised how close your face was to his. Your giggling dissolved, and you found yourself staring into his enchanting green eyes again.   
There was no mistaking the erratic thudding of your heart or the butterflies swirling in your stomach.

You really liked Arthur. You liked him a lot. More than just a friend.

You cleared your throat. "Um, so...where to next?"

Blinking, Arthur hastily set you down. "Uh, w-we haven't....done the maze yet." 

You gave a bright smile. "Okay then. Let's go and see how lost we can get. Seriously, I have no sense of direction."

Not as lost as you kept getting in his eyes, you thought with a blush.

The conversation flowed as easily as ever as you walked around the maze, but in spite of there being no awkward silences something had changed.   
Watching Arthur laugh as he walked along with his hands plunged deep into his pockets, you found yourself pretending that he was yours. 

God what was wrong with you? You inwardly scorned yourself for acting so stupidly, as if you had a crush. Fooling yourself was just ridiculous. You knew that.   
And yet you couldn't help playing this silly game in your head. Imagining what it would be like if the two of you were a couple.

Would it be like this? Easy and fun and simple, with long walks around the park and cozy evenings spent together curled up watching TV as you laughed and chatted?

You kind of thought you already knew the answer to that, but it wasn't worth dwelling on. The situation was too complicated. Your life was back in Los Angeles. You wouldn't be here forever, and Arthur's life was here. The job that he loved doing despite the dangers that came with it. His mom. He had her to take care of. He was a good man who'd never leave her behind, and you'd never expect or want him to.

But trying to be sensible was easier said than done. Especially once you'd gone on to a restaurant downtown in Gotham Plaza.   
It all looked and felt very date-like, particularly when you caught yourself spoon-feeding him some of your desert. It was done innocently, with you just wanting him to try some, but you had to keep reminding yourself that you weren't an item.  
You were just two friends, enjoying each other's company and good food.

"Thank you for such a wonderful day, Art."

Arthur looked up at you and smiled faintly, his face half cast in shadow as the car made its way back to Arthur's apartment.

"I didn't do anything." He said humbly. "Thank you for spending your time with me."

"You don't have to thank me, I love spending time with you."

Arthur's heart leaped up into his throat. Your compliment literally left him lost for words. He couldn't understand why you would enjoy his company so much but he was thrilled that you did. 

And the way you'd looked at him in the park....  
He couldn't forget that.   
Your beautiful eyes as they'd gazed into his. Your beautiful pink lips stretched into a dazzling smile.  
He sighed.  
Had he imagined it? That that smile was for him? That he'd seen attraction in your eyes?  
He wished he knew for certain.

You reached Arthur's apartment building and he climbed out, thanking you for the ride.

"You're welcome. Still on for tea tomorrow?" You called to him, grinning.

You said the same thing to him every night, it was a ritual joke.

"Of course." He replied.

"Cool. See you later then. Goodnight Art."

"Goodnight (y/n)."

When you got back to the hotel you asked the night manager for a vase to put your rose in, hoping to keep it fresh for as long as possible. 

And even when the petals began to dry and curl, you refused to throw it away. It was your memory of a lovely day.   
A lovely day with the man you wanted more than you'd ever wanted anyone.

* * *

"(y/n), hello? Is there anyone in there?" Glen snapped his fingers in front of your face rudely, startling you. "You need to focus!"

"Shit. Sorry Glen. I'm just tired." 

That wasn't a complete lie. Recently you'd been staying later and later at Arthur's place. Not wanting to leave the peaceful coziness. Not wanting to leave him.

"Sorry doesn't cut it sweetheart. Whatever you get up to in your own time is your own business, but when it starts interfering with your work? Then I have a problem."

You blushed. Nothing was worse than being scolded by Glen in front of the entire cast and crew. And especially Trent. He was so obnoxious and smug.

Smirking at you derisively he deliberately raised his voice so that everyone in the vicinity could hear,

"Well we all now why she's tired, right?"

A ripple of laughter went around the set, making you feel utterly humiliated and confused.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You said defensively, having to stand still as a stylist smoothed down your hair for the next scene.

Trent raised a cynical eyebrow. "Playing the innocent, huh? Don't bother (y/n), we've all seen this morning's papers."

"Only because you showed it everyone." The stylist piped up.

Perplexed, you frowned at him. "What about the morning paper?"

"Oh you haven't seen it? Well not to worry, I'm sure it'll be reprinted in all the magazines soon. There's some beautiful shots of you and your mystery man. I'm sure The Hollywood Reporter will have a field day with the story."

"My wha--"

The words backed up in your throat.

Oh no. No, no, no, no!

You closed your eyes, silently praying that it wouldn't be what you suspected.

The goddamn paparazzi must've taken photos of you the other day when you were out with Arthur.

"I gotta say you don't waste any time." Trent ploughed on remorselessly. Flashing his pearly white teeth like a shark, and you had to suppress the urge to knock them down his throat. "How long has it been since Sebastian? Two months?"

Seething, it took every ounce of patience in you to keep from snapping at him. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction. There was a movie to be made and you had to be professional. Which also included not daydreaming about Arthur between takes.

Was it even okay to have him in your head so much?  
You wasn't sure. To your annoyance maybe Trent had a point, even though he'd got the time scale wrong.   
It had been three months since your break-up with Sebastian, not two.

Perhaps it'd be best if you distanced yourself from Arthur a little.  
You didn't want to, but you had to focus on your work and...and he was always on your mind. Without meaning to you'd recall something funny he'd said, or some dorky thing he'd done, and find yourself giggling.   
Then these last couple days you'd remember how he'd looked at you in the park as he held you in those surprisingly strong arms of his, and your pulse would speed up.

Did he feel the same way about you? It was hard to know for sure. He was so unlike the Hollywood boys you'd dated, who made it cringingly obvious that they were into you.  
But Arthur was shy and sweet. You kinda got the feeling that he must like you for you, but then what? Where did you go from there?   
Trying to initiate a conversation like that with him seemed impossible. You had no idea of knowing how he felt and it was a delicate subject.

Even more so now that the press was involved.

Poor Arthur. You only hoped that he'd be okay with whatever nonsense they'd printed.  
And the day couldn't end quickly enough so you could check out whatever damage had been done for yourself.


	13. Once Upon A Time In Gotham (pt.4)

"Artie you sly dog!" 

"Are you dating this actress, Arthur? For real?"

"How the hell did you manage to score with a chick like that?"

"She probably just fancied a change from all those Hollywood types, right Arthur?"

"Where d'you meet her?"

His coworkers questions were still reverberating around Arthur's head, and had been all day.

That morning as he'd set off for work he had initially thought he'd been hallucinating when he'd passed by the local news vendor and noticed his own face plastered across the front page.

Naturally he'd purchased one to read on the train, despite still doubting his own mind.  
But the man who'd sold him the paper recognised him. And then his work colleagues had bombarded him with questions and unwelcome comments the minute he'd walked into work.

They'd all seen the article. So it had to be real. It wasn't just an elaborate trick conjured by his own overactive imagination.

For the rest of the day it had been on his mind, for numerous reasons.  
He wasn't overly embarrassed because of the publicity. On the contrary it had felt kind of good having the guys at work clap him on the back, congratulating him on having seduced such a desirable, famous, young woman.

But as much as he'd felt good, gaining their respect and admiration, the victory felt hollow because it was false.

The newspaper had gotten it all wrong, speculating about him and you, and deep down he felt guilty for not being honest with the guys at work and setting them straight.

Arthur wished it were true. He wished it could be, but it was impossible.   
Why would you want a guy like him? He had nothing to offer.

During his twenty minute lunch break he'd sat chain-smoking, replaying the many interactions and conversations he'd had with you over the past few weeks.   
The fact that your friendship has blossomed was obvious. You'd grown more familiar with each other. 

One particular example of that occurred the day after you'd been to the park. 

You'd arrived at his apartment, panicking due to yet more scrip changes.   
As you'd sat drinking tea, trying to memorise the new dialogue for the scene you'd be filming the next day, Arthur had offered to help.  
He didn't know how he could be of much use, but he couldn't bear to see you worrying.

Grateful for his offer, you asked him to read out Trent's new lines, to help you rehearse.  
Reluctantly he did. Feeling shy and awkward to begin with...

"I'm no good at acting."

You smiled at him. "You don't have to act it out, Art. Just read the lines for me."

"Yeah but...I'll feel kinda silly."

"Well that makes two of us then. I always feel silly rehearsing a scene, don't worry."

Still feeling a little foolish, he'd sat in the armchair clutching the sheet of paper. "Um, okay." He cleared his throat. "Sarah I l-love you." His cheeks blazed, but he persisted, trying to ignore how flustered he felt. "I'm sorry for everything I've done. You've stood by me all my life and I never saw it. Never realised until now that I need you."

"Oh, Jack. Do you really mean it? You've made me so happy and--"

"Wait, you mean she actually falls for this crap?" Arthur interrupted incredulously, frowning.

You shrugged. "It's a romantic movie. You know what they're like."

He shook his head. "Can't say I'm a big fan. But why would Sarah want this asshole after everything he's put her through? It makes no sense."

Laughing, you took hold of his hand and pulled him out of his seat. "I know, Arthur. It's garbage. But I still need to learn it. So can you please try and get into character a little?"

"You said I didn't have to act." 

"You don't. But it might help if you're focused on the scene rather than the shitty plot."

Arthur chuckled softly and rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay I'll try."

"Great. Can you start over please?"

He sighed but did as you asked. "Sarah I love you. I'm sorry for everything I've done. You've stood by me all my life and I never saw it. Never realised until now that I need you." He read, the monotone of his voice making you giggle more.

"Oh, Jack. Do you really mean it?" You instinctively moved towards him. "You've made me so happy and...you know what? It doesn't even matter. Just shut up and kiss me."

Silence ensued as you gazed at him expectantly.

"What?" Arthur asked.

"You're supposed to kiss me."

His eyes widened. "I...I am? But I'm not Trent."

"No, thank god. But you are supposed to be Jack."

His heart was beating so fast he was pretty sure he'd have a heart attack any second.   
Okay so it wasn't real but you were willingly giving him the opportunity to kiss you.   
Him.

But then the worse thing imaginable had happened.  
He'd erupted into a fit of chest-wracking laughter, ruining the moment completely, and because he'd told you at your very first meeting that it was usually brought on by anxiety...well, you'd naturally felt responsible.

"I'm sorry, Art." You patted his back gently, once the laughter eventually died down. "I shouldn't have made you feel uncomfortable like that."

"N-no, you didn't (y/n). Honestly."

His ribs ached from all the laughing, and his heart ached from having lost the one chance he'd ever have to kiss you.

Remembering it still made his cheeks burn with shame. He was an idiot. An idiot for torturing himself like this. 

Once the shop he was sign-spinning for closed, he headed straight home. Taking his chances knowing he'd be ridiculed for his costume, but the way he was feeling right now made even the prospect of getting beaten up preferable to having to face his workmates again.

Back at his apartment he sat at the table, scribbling furiously into his journal for a whole hour. Pouring his heart out onto the page.  
Not having anyone to talk to, he found it therapeutic to get all of his thoughts out of his head.

Afterwards he took a shower, scrubbing off his makeup so that the water turned purple as it swirled down the drain. The warm jets of water bounced off his head, which was still buzzing. Still overloaded with too many thoughts and turbulent feelings.

The newspaper article had mentioned your ex lovers. Claiming that you'd dated some rock star named Karl Ryder, then the actor Sebastian Rivers just weeks after your split with the rock star. It also stated that you were supposedly on a trial separation with Rivers, even though you'd also recently been linked to your co-star Trent as well.

'How will Sebastian respond when he discovers she's been spending her free time in Gotham with this new mystery man?' It had read. 'And what must co-star Trent Cipriani have to say on the matter?

Fucking Trent Cipriani, Arthur thought sourly.  
You'd only ever spoken harshly about your co-star. Could it be true that you were involved with him? You were both staying at the same hotel. But you spent a lot of your time here, with him. Why would you do that if you were having a fling with Trent?  
He was at a loss to understand.

Throwing on a pair of light blue sweatpants, Arthur made himself a strong coffee. To hell with his insomnia, he needed the caffeine fix.  
Then taking his journal he headed over to the couch. Turning to a clean page he began writing again. Only this time he added a fake name to shield your identity, knowing that his social worker would read it at some point.

I've loved Sarah for years but now we're close it's real. I can't get her out of my head. She's like the sun that sets, the moon that rises, and everything else in between. But there's someone else. I'm not sure who exactly, but it means I can't ever be with her, and it's breaking my fucking heart.

Just then there came a knock at the door, making him jump. Setting the book down he made his way into the hall, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

He opened the door to you like that. Cigarette between his lips. His wet hair scraped back, his chest bare.

"(y/n)!" He exclaimed, hastily removing the cigarette. "You're....you're early!"

"I know." You gave an apologetic smile and tried to keep your eyes on his face. "I got an early finish because I kept floofing my lines. I hope you don't mind me coming straight here, but I just really needed to talk to you about this."

You held up a crumpled copy of today's newspaper.

Blushing, Arthur stood aside so you could enter. "Of course I don't mind."

"Thank you. I've not been able to think straight all day."

That made two of you, Arthur thought with a sad smile.

"You want some tea?" He asked, making his way into the kitchen.

"You got anything stronger?"

He shook his head apologetically. "Only coffee I'm afraid. I'm not supposed to drink alcohol 'cause of my medication."

"It's okay, Art. I was half-joking anyway. I need to keep a clear head to learn the new script tonight."

You followed him into the kitchen. Arthur flipped on the electric kettle and leaned back against the counter, folding his arms awkwardly across his chest.

You noticed how thin he was. How could you not? Yet you didn't find his thinness at all off-putting. All you saw was the man you had feelings for. His handsome face. The lips you couldn't help thinking about kissing, and now the chest you suddenly longed to run your hands over.

Stop it, you mentally screamed, a hot flush crawling up your neck.

"I'm....so sorry...about all of this." You gestured to the paper, then threw it down on the counter. "I had no idea."

"You don't have to apologise (y/n). It's not your fault."

"No but I should've known better. Reporters have been hanging around the hotel since I arrived in Gotham. They must've been following me."

"That sucks." He took a drag on his cigarette, his piercing green eyes traversing your face.

"I know. But I'm kinda used to it now."

"Yeah but you shouldn't have to be. How are you supposed to live a normal life?"

"I don't." You smile sadly. "But it comes with the territory. And I feel awful for dragging you into this. I really am sorry."

"Don't be." He turned away to pour your tea. "Uh, w-will your boyfriend be mad? He should understand though, right? Once you explain."

"My boyfriend? Ugh. You mean Sebastian? We're not together anymore."

Arthur nodded. "I know, it said in the paper that you guys were on a break."

Unable to suppress your burst of laughter, you shook your head. "The press often get stories wrong, Art. Sebastian and I are over."

Arthur spun around to face you, his expression one of cautious astonishment. "But...you were hoping to work things out. Weren't you?"

"Not at all." You sighed heavily, wondering where to begin. You'd never talked about your complicated love life with Arthur before, but now it was unavoidable. "I know how bad it looks. My reputation has never been worse. I did start dating Sebastian soon after Karl, but it was nothing serious with Karl. I mean, he's a rock star for god sake. You know what those guys are like. They collect women like some men collect stamps."

Arthur ran a large hand over his damp hair, cigarette smoke pouring from his nostrils. "Was it serious with Sebastian?"

He watched as you lower your gaze to the floor. "He thought it was. I guess I did too for a while but...I realised it wasn't really what I wanted. He loves the spotlight too much and I didn't want to live that way. Our lives being one big media circus."

"And Trent?" Arthur asked nervously.

You scoffed. "Those rumours were false. We worked together on a movie once before and we got on as friends, but he had a girlfriend. The press made it look like we were having some type of sordid affair and Trent didn't discourage them. He wanted the scandal, knowing the publicity would help further his career."

Recounting the way in which Trent had used you to his advantage made you feel both angered and upset.  
Arthur saw your face crumple with discomfort, and instinctively placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Hey, don't get upset. It's okay."

His soft voice and tender touch almost made you come undone. He was so kind and thoughtful. That in itself was enough to make you cry.

"Thank you Arthur. You're so good to me."

Arthur smiled. "That's what friends are for, right?"

You nodded. "Right."

"Besides, only idiots believe everything they read in the paper. You only have to look at me to figure out that story isn't true."

You looked at him curiously. "What do you mean by that?"

"Well...look at me." He held his arms open wide. "As if I'd be the kind of guy you'd go for."

You were frowning at him now, feeling saddened by him having such a low opinion of himself. "There's nothing wrong with you, Art."

Snorting, he replied sarcastically. "There's not much right with me either." 

"You're being silly."

"No I'm being realistic."

At his insistence he carried your tea into the living room for you, then excused himself while he went to put on a shirt.

Sitting down on the couch you realised you'd almost sat on something.   
Arthur's notebook.  
You didn't intend to read it, but it was open, and as you moved it aside your eyes fell on the words...

I've loved Sarah for years but now we're close it's real. I can't get her out of my head. She's like the sun that sets, the moon that rises, and everything else in between. But there's someone else. I'm not sure who exactly, but it means I can't ever be with her, and it's breaking my fucking heart.

You felt completely winded, like someone was placing heavy blocks on top of your chest, slowly crushing you to death, forcing all the air out of your lungs.

Arthur was in love with someone?

He'd never mentioned anything. Not that it was any of your business really.  
But still, the dramatic revelation shook you.  
In fact it did more than that.

You felt utterly distraught.

The irony that you'd finally met a decent man who was already in love with another woman, hurt more than you would've expected. More than you would've liked.  
Shit. You really did feel very deeply for Arthur. Deeper than you'd realised, which was only apparent now that you'd learned of this Sarah, whoever she was.

"Sorry about that." 

You looked up as he came back into the room, now wearing a thin sweatshirt.

"It's...okay." You managed, with great effort.

Your eyes were glued to him as he sat down, smiling his adorable, slightly lopsided smile. 

Your heart pinched painfully.  
Whoever this Sarah was, you almost pitied her. To have the love of this man and not know. Or if she did know, you despised her. Because why would she not want Arthur? His imperfections made him beautifully perfect. And of course you couldn't help envying her.

Damn. What you wouldn't give to have him feel that way about you.

And just like that you suddenly felt so overwhelmed with sadness. You had to get out of here. You couldn't do this, not after the day you'd had. And the last thing you wanted was to have another emotional breakdown like you did the very first time you came. It wasn't fair on Arthur.

"Are you okay?" He asked, noticing that you'd visibly paled.

Nodding leadenly you faked a bright smile. Giving the performance of your life. "Yeah I'm fine. Just really tired." You took a deep, calming breath. "You know I think I'm going to go, Art. If you don't mind?"

His brow creased, face filled with concern. "Why? Is something wrong?"

Standing, you waved your hand dismissively. "No, I just need an early night that's all. I think all the late nights are catching up with me, and if I don't get my shit together for tomorrow Glen will fire my ass."

"Oh. Okay. Aren't you going to call your driver?"

"He's already waiting out front." You lied. It felt awful lying to him, but you just needed to get away before you burst into tears. "I told him I couldn't stay long because I have lines to learn still."

Arthur nodded understandingly, walking you to the door. "Well I hope you get some rest. Perhaps you're working too hard."

"Perhaps I am. Thanks Arthur, and I'm sorry again....about everything."

"It's fine. Don't worry." He assured you, as you gave him a brief hug. "Still on for tea tomorrow?"

"O-of course."

A lump had formed in your throat now, making it difficult to swallow or breath. Your legs didn't seem able to move quickly enough towards the elevator, they felt like lead. Like you were wading through quicksand.

You waved to each other. The elevator door scarcely had time to slide shut before you dissolved into floods of tears.

You walked to the pay phone on the corner to call your driver. Then you made your way back to Arthur's building, where you stood resting your head against the rough brick wall as you waited, mascara staining your cheeks.   
But you couldn't care less about how you looked. Even if the loathsome paparazzi showed up right now, you wouldn't have cared. All of that seemed so insignificant and pointless now. 

All that mattered to you, was Arthur.

And if the press did turn up, you'd be forced to tell them that your so called 'mystery man' wasn't yours, because his heart belonged to another.


	14. Once Upon A Time In Gotham (pt.5)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning ⚠️ This part contains NSFW

Back at the hotel you took a long, relaxing bath with scented candles, in the hopes of it helping you unwind.   
Sinking beneath the foamy bubbles, the luxurious water eased your tense muscles. But it couldn't ease your mind or broken heart.

Broken heart.

Yes. You really did feel that bad.  
Bad enough to have a bottle of wine sent up to your room in an attempt to drown your sorrows, even though you ought to be studying the new script.

Well, fuck it. Glen could go suck a lemon for all you cared. You'd had enough of his stupid movie. His stupid script and your stupid co-star.

A couple hours went by. 

You were half-heartedly trying to learn your lines, but you kept crying, the tears blurring your vision, making it impossible for you to concentrate.  
Eventually you gave into your melancholy and sobbed into your pillow.  
You cried for yourself. For your lonely heart. For the life you yearned for.  
But most of all you cried for Arthur.   
He lived a lonely existence too, and he was suffering from unrequited love, just like you, and such a lovely man deserved to be appreciated and cherished.

The more you thought about the way you'd left him in such a hurry the more ridiculous you felt. The poor guy. What must he think of you? You hadn't even finished the tea he'd made. He'd probably be sat there now, in his cozy apartment, all alone.

Feeling emboldened by the wine, you reached across for the phone and dialled the operator.

It wouldn't hurt just to call and let him know that you felt bad for your rude manners. At least then he'd know that somebody was thinking about him, that someone cared, even if it wasn't his precious Sarah.

You gave the operator Arthur's address and they asked if you wanted to be connected.  
You said yes, then waited impatiently for him to answer his phone.

But it rang and rang, until you were put through to the automated voice recording of an answerphone. 

You idly wondered if he'd gone out. To see Sarah, perhaps?  
God, you needed to get a grip. You were thinking irrationally. Obsessively almost.

"Hi Art, it's me (y/n)." You said after the beep. "I just wanted to apologise for leaving so abruptly. That was rude of me. I needed an early night and...." Your thoughts spiralled towards the real reason you were calling him. You just wanted to hear his voice. You were missing his company. "....I know it's pretty late and yeah, I'm still awake, but...well, that's because I can't stop thinking about you."

Wait, what? You never meant to say that. But it was out there now and you couldn't take it back. And not having to speak to him directly gave you the courage you so desperately needed. So you continued,

"I know it's probably not okay to say this, but I like you, Arthur. I like you a lot. And those things you said earlier, about me never wanting a guy like you? Well you're wrong. So wrong. You're everything I've ever wanted. You just don't realise how special you are. I hope we'll still be cool after me saying all this. Oh god....But I had to tell you. And yeah, I want you. I want you so much. There...I've said it now. So sue me--"

Just then there was a click as the receiver was lifted, followed by Arthur's voice.   
He'd picked up the phone.

"(y/n)?" He asked, sounding breathless.

Your hand was clamped over your mouth in shock, so all you could do was mumble a barely audible, "Y-yes?"

"Did....did you mean that?" He swallowed roughly.

You didn't hesitate, even though you knew you perhaps should. "Yes I meant it. All of it."

".....Fuck." He muttered under his breath. There was a long pause. 

You could hear the soft sound of Arthur's rapid breathing, along with the sound of your heart thumping in your ears.

"A-Arthur?"

"Are you sure (y/n)? Like, absolutely fucking positive?"

"Of course I'm sure! Art, I know my own mind, so please just accept it. I know this must have come as a bit of a shock, but I can't help the way I feel about you!"

A low groan, most likely accompanied with a slow drag of his hand down his face, echoed in your ears.

Oh shit. You really had made a mess of things being so loose tongued.

You lowered your voice, heart still thudding in your ears. "Art, I'm sorry. This doesn't have to change things. We...we can still be friends, can't we?"

"You're at the Plaza hotel, right?"

You frowned. "Yeah."

"What's your room number?" He demanded.

"What?"

"Your room number (y/n). What is it?"

"407, why?"

"Stay right there!" He said needlessly, then the line went dead.

Confused, you placed the receiver back in its cradle.

Your heart was still palpitating wildly. Was he coming over? If so, why?   
To have a proper discussion? To clear the air?  
Hell, how hideously embarrassing.

Outside the rain bounced heavily against the window. A flash of lightening illuminated your dimly lit room, followed by a loud rumble of thunder.

Was this how your beautiful friendship with Arthur was going to end? Turbulently on a stormy night in Gotham?  
Perhaps all your years in the acting business had made you melodramatic, but the ominous storm was providing the setting for a movie, a scene where bad things usually happened.

Unable to relax, you got up and paced the large room anxiously.   
You couldn't understand why you were feeling so shaken. Okay so you'd just confessed to liking Arthur and wanting him, but there was no need for you to feel so overwrought.  
Your brain kept telling you to be calm but your heart wouldn't listen.  
It wasn't everyday you openly told a guy how you felt about them, and Arthur wasn't just some other guy.

You'd never felt like this before about anybody. And you were terrified that you'd gone and ruined everything now.   
Why couldn't you have just been happy to have him in your life as a friend? It was enough.

It seemed to take an eternity for Arthur to arrive, and you were starting to fear you might wear out the carpet with your continuous pacing, but at long last the phone rang.  
It was the night manger, asking if Arthur had permission to come up to your room.  
You told him yes. Then waited. Your heart now in your mouth.

A minute or two later there came a knock at the door. You quickly smoothed your hair down, wondering if you should've changed out of your robe. It didn't seem appropriate being so underdressed but it was too late to do anything about it now.

Taking a deep breath, you unlocked the door and pulled the handle.

There he stood, lovely Arthur, breathless and soaked to the skin. His hood was drawn over his head, a few errant, wet curls poking out, hanging limply around his face.

"Arthur! You're drenched!"

"I don't care." He said roughly. 

Stepping passed you he gently grabbed you by the hips, pushing you back against the wall behind the door with a light thud. You squealed, your eyes rounding in their sockets as he manoeuvred his foot, kicking the door shut behind him.

"A-Arthur, what...what are you doing?" The nerves you'd managed to suppress up until now, all seemed to rush through your veins all at once.

He stood above you, domineering you with his height as he held you pinned flush to the wall.

"What I should've done when you asked me to." He lowered his head and ensnared your lips in a limb-melting kiss.

The kiss sent a shockwave through your system, making you feel weak at the knees. You brought your hands up and gripped his jacket, needing to cling onto him for support, as your eyes slid shut and you lost yourself to pure, physical sensation.

You could feel the wetness from his clothes dampening your robe but you didn't care. All that mattered was Arthur's lips. They were wonderful. He kissed you with unbridled hunger, an urgency that was nothing like you'd ever known. Everything about it felt right. He himself felt right, after so much wrong. As if you weren't intensely aware already, he was showing you that every man, every kiss you'd ever had before him, was wrong.

"That....that's how Jack should've kissed Sarah." He panted, drawing back, giving you room to breath.

You felt utterly dazed but your eyes grew wide at the mention of the name. "S-Sarah?"

He nodded, burying his face in your hair so his voice came out muffled. "Yeah. Your character's name is Sarah, isn't it."

As the realisation dawned you couldn't refrain from laughing with immense relief.

"What's so funny?" 

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Oh, Arthur...." It felt as if a fire had been lit low down in your belly. "A-Arthur?"

"Hm?" He nosed your neck, gently kissing down the column of your throat.

"I want you." You exhaled, pushing your hands into his wet hair. "...is it too soon to do this yet, d'you think?"

He shook his head decisively, his lips claiming your mouth once more, speaking between ragged kisses. "No. Do...do you?"

"No." Your hands went to his shoulders, pulling at his wet coat impatiently, desperate to get to his body. "I want to do this."

The breath hitched in your throat as he pressed himself into you and you felt...him.  
All of him. Hard and needy for you.

Groaning, he shrugged out of his coat, leaving it in a pile around his feet. Too impatient to unbutton his shirt, you helped peel it off over his head, then tossed it aside carelessly.

And then you were moving. Stumbling backwards towards the bed, still clinging to each other while locking lips.

The back of your legs hit the base of the bed and you tumbled down onto the mattress, taking Arthur with you. You both laughed, and you felt comfortable doing so. Unlike all of your previous affairs where it had all been so serious and humourless in the bedroom, with Arthur it felt warm and friendly and lovely.

But that wasn't to say it wasn't intensely passionate. On the contrary all that need and desire and longing that had been building over time, was now clamouring for release.

Bearing you back into the soft mattress, he tugged with barely contained frustration at your silky night robe. It came apart in his hands, and he gasped at the discovery of you being naked beneath it.

"God! You're so beautiful (y/n)."

You bit your bottom lip as his fingers explored every inch of your body, sensually familiarising his strong hands -- and warm mouth -- with each feminine curve.

"Mhm...Art...you're driving me crazy." You gasped, running your hands across his back, digging your nails into the soft flesh as he feathered kisses up your inner thighs, and then that most intimate place between them.

Your eyes drifted shut, losing your senses to the heavenly things he was doing with his sinfully skilful tongue.

You came apart almost immediately. Your back arching up off the bed as the intensity of your climax ripped you apart, bearing your very soul to him.

Grinning wickedly, Arthur crawled back up your body. "I'm a little out of practice. It's been a while. I'm not even sure if I can remember what to do."

"Oh please! You're incredible!" You giggled, cheeks still flushed from your orgasm. "And maybe I can help you remember."

Threading your arms around his neck, you pulled him down and kissed him again, feeling the wetness of his lips but not disliking it.

Then like two people running down a hill, all at once you were gathering momentum, and things started to move at hyper-speed due to your growing desire.

Excitement coursed through your veins as you found yourselves rolling around the conveniently large bed. Your hands were shaking as you fumbled with his belt, and he shivered violently when he felt your curious fingers teasing his already hard length to full-arousal.

"Are...are you sure you want this?" He asked sweetly, as he aligned his hips with yours.

"Yes! Take me Arthur, please. I've never been so sure of anything."

He'd didn't need telling twice. Having gained your consent he was more than happy to oblige. His large erection seemed to find entrance into your body of its own accord, drawn by the silky warmth of your throbbing core. He slid into you like an eel into oil, letting out a hissing breath as you cried out, overwhelmed by the indescribable fusion of pain and pleasure.

"I...I think I'm remembering." He exhaled with a faint smile.

"It...it certainly seems so. Oh...God--!"

He started to move. His body moving on top of yours felt amazing. He felt heavy and warm on you, filling you so deeply. He was all around you and in you, and the closeness felt utterly euphoric, like nothing you'd ever known. 

Finding a rhythm, your bodies fused together. The connection so profound it felt as if you were absorbing the very essence of him, until he'd become a part of you.

"Shit, (y/n)! You have no idea how amazing you feel."

"Arthur...please, don't stop. You feel...so...good!"

Keening and trembling, you writhed beneath him as he completed the erotic act with a series of slow, determined, rocking thrusts, which ended in a simultaneous, glorious, shuddering climax for you both.

Arthur pressed his face into the curve of your shoulder as he came hard. His release so intense it made him shudder uncontrollably, every nerve ending burning and rippling with pleasure.

Your vision temporarily faded to white as hot shards of pleasure splintered through your entire body. Gasping for breath a few moments later when your sight returned, you felt lightheaded and shaken, but in the best possible way.

Gently lifting himself from you, Arthur collapsed by your side, panting.  
You lay completely immobile, sweet aftershocks still pulsing down through your abdomen.

You felt his hand touch your hand, and smiled happily as he laced his fingers through yours. After what you'd just done together, his tender gesture meant the world to you.

"Stay with me?" Your question came out as more of a statement.

Rolling onto his side, Arthur wrapped a strong arm around your waist and pulled you close.

"Of course I will. I'd stay with you always (y/n). If you wanted me to." He pressed a soft kiss to your damp forehead, then rubbed his nose against yours. "Is it too early to say I love you?"

Your heart swelled at his words and you closed your eyes, feeling deliriously happy. Like a child who's christmases had all come at once.

"I don't think so, Arthur. Because I love you too."


	15. Once Upon A Time In Gotham (pt.6)

When Arthur awoke the following morning he was temporarily thrown into confusion. Waking up naked and in a room that wasn't his own, threw him off balance at first, but not as much as it did when he realised he wasn't alone.

Ever so carefully he turned over, and the sight of you, also naked, and curled up behind him lovingly, was enough to steal his breath away.

So, it had been real. The whole thing.

He bit his lip hard and swallowed the bubble of laughter that was eager to escape his mouth, not wanting to disturb you.  
But it was a real laugh that he was suppressing. One of pure, genuine joy. Knowing that everything was real and had actually happened made his heart feel full to the point of bursting.

He'd made love to you. Twice.  
And you'd kissed him, held him and told him you loved him. At least three times.  
You were actually his, and he was the happiest man alive.

Propping himself up on his elbow he smiled to himself as he watched you sleep. He wondered if you were dreaming. You looked so peaceful, so serene, and so beautiful with your bed tousled hair. He wanted to see you like this every morning. At rest, and naturally stunning without makeup or fancy clothes.

It was then that you stirred, your eyes blinking open sleepily, awakening to Arthur's handsome face gazing down at you adoringly.  
And your heart melted all over again.

"Hey you." He smiled shyly, blushing a little as he recalled everything he'd done to you the night before. It was the stuff fantasies were made of, except it had been even better than anything he'd ever imagined.

You returned his smile, bringing a hand up to gently stroke the side of his face, tracing the sharp curve of his cheekbone. "Hey yourself."

He leaned into your tender caress, his eyes drifting shut. The simple action made your heart quicken, reminding you why you'd fallen for this adorable man in the first place.   
He was so gentle. So loving. So genuine. And so deserving. A man so worthy of all the affection and love you had to offer. He appreciated you like no one else ever had. He loved you like no one else ever could.

"Are you okay?" He asked, placing his hand on yours. "I mean, you don't regret anything do you? You haven't...you h-haven't changed your mind?"

Your eyebrows knitted in surprise. "What? No of course I haven't. Why would I?"

Arthur did allow himself to laugh then, his face splitting into a wide grin. "That's good. I just had to be sure, that's all."

"You're so funny, Arthur." Straining upwards you kissed his smiling lips.

Just then a sudden knock at the door startled you both, bringing you back down to earth with a jolting thud.

"Shit. What time is it? Have I overslept?"

You'd seriously forgotten all about work. Which is something you'd never done before, and Arthur's ability to make you do that was astonishing. It had been a blissful night, one that you'd never forget, yet now you had to face another day of thankless, emotionally draining work, on a movie set that you'd come to despise.

Spotting your discarded robe in a heap on the floor you hurriedly reached down and retrieved it. Throwing it on as you rose from the bed, Arthur watched you, still in awe. Your exquisite body. The way you moved elegantly across the room. Even in a hurry you still looked so poised.

Cracking open the door your heart sank when you were greeted by Trent's condescending face. His habit of looking down his nose so haughtily really irritated you.

"Hey Trent. Sorry I overslept. I forgot to set my alarm. Is Glen really pissed at me?"

"Yeah you look like you've had a rough night." Trent remarked scathingly. "You're such a klutz. It's a good thing filming has been postponed today because of the weather, otherwise Glen would be seriously pissed, and rightly so."

Ignoring his trademark skits, you quickly processed the important things he'd said that actually mattered.

"For real? Yes!" You briefly closed your eyes, relieved. "Thank god. I could use a day off."

"Day off? Uh don't get ahead of yourself (y/n). Instead of just lounging around you could do something constructive, like rehearse." He smiled self-assuredly. "We can go over our lines together, god knows you need the practice."

Over in the bed, Arthur lay curled under the blankets, hiding to save you any embarrassment should he come in. It had been his natural response as you'd gone to open the door, even though the bed wasn't visible from that angle.   
But now he found himself wanting to leap out and confront the arrogant prick.   
Who the hell did he think he was, talking to you like that?

"You know what Trent? I think I'll save your precious time and take a rain check. I have plans." Arthur heard you say.

Trent's expression instantly darkened. You could see how deeply offended he was and you couldn't have cared less.

"How the hell can you have plans? You only just found out we're not filming until it stops raining!"

Your own expression remained stoic as you eyed him steadily. "Yeah, well I can think of plenty of other things I'd rather be doing."

Trent became incensed. "Excuse me? This is work, and I'm willing to sacrifice my own free time by offering to help you out here. But you can forget it now, sweetheart."

"Okay I won't keep you any longer then. Goodbye Trent." 

"Oh so you're just going to, what? Waste your time with that so-called mystery man of yours? Which, by the way, I don't think is that big a mystery. The only guy you've met since you got here is that clown. And I mean that in every sense of the word!"

Hackles rising, you scowled at Trent. Infuriated by his uncalled-for meanness. "Don't say that about him, you don't know the first thing about him!"

Trent's jaw slackened in shock as he stared at you aghast. "Oh my fucking god. It is the clown!" Recovering swiftly he forced a peal of mocking laughter. "Oh that's real classy (y/n). Seriously. Have your standards really sunk that low? I mean, I know you're an easy lay, but I'd have thought that even you would draw the line at a freak like that."

"Fuck you Trent! You know nothing about me, or him, so keep your narrow-minded opinions to your fucking self!" You raged, having to fight the urge to smack him hard across the mouth.

Arthur heard the door slam shut and fought his way from under the sheets, his face hot after having practically suffocated.  
Anger was swirling in the pit of his stomach. How dare that asshole say those things about you.

Seething, you stomped back to the bed, tugging on your hair in frustration as you let out a growl of annoyance.

And just like that Arthur's anger quelled. He could see you were upset, and you were his priority. What you needed now was kindness. Your feelings took precedence over his.

"Hey hey, it's alright." He moved forwards, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders. You were shaking with anger. "Don't let the bastard upset you (y/n). He isn't worth it."

You took a deep breath as you caved against him. Practically liquefying in his arms. He was right. Trent wasn't worth it, but that didn't mean his jibes didn't hurt. But you would rise above it as usual and be the bigger person. And Arthur's embrace soothed you. His very presence had a calming affect on you.

"Thank you Arthur." You exhaled unsteadily, your silent tears wetting his brown locks as you buried your face in the space between his shoulder and his neck. "You always make me feel so much better. Fuck. I love you so much."

Arthur's heart squeezed, and his arms tightened around you protectively. "You don't have to thank me, silly. I love you. I love you more than you could ever imagine (y/n). You do believe me, don't you?"

"Yes. I really do."

Pulling back so you could look at him, and he you, you took a moment to survey his face. His features were at odds with each other, you couldn't help noticing. He was smiling gently, his eyes sparkling and filled with adoration, but his dark brows were drawn low in an anxious frown.

"What is it Art? What's wrong? You're not upset by the things he said are you?"

"Not upset." He said, his emerald gaze lowered and settled on the floor. "But what if he tells everyone now he knows?"

"So?" You gave a carefree shrug. "I know it might be difficult for you. Getting used to the publicity and all that shit. But I'll be there to help you. And I don't care who knows. I'm not ashamed of falling in love."

"But what about the papers? You know what everyone will say. They'll say I'm not good enough for you, which...I'm not."

Horrified, you sat back a little, shaking your head in disbelief. "Arthur Fleck, don't you dare say that!"

Reluctantly he raised sorrowful eyes to yours, and the heartbreaking look in them made you want to burst into tears. He was so sensitive.  
He felt so deeply. Cared so deeply.

"(y/n) it's true. Come on, look at you...you're famous and talented and stunning. And look at me--"

"I am looking at you." You interrupted, cupping his face delicately in your hands. "And do you know what I see?"

Anxious eyes held yours, glistening with unshed tears. "W-what?"

"I see a kind, caring, beautiful man. The sweetest, most genuine guy I've ever known. You're special and handsome and everything I ever dreamed of." 

He closed his eyes, a lonely teardrop falling from his right eye. Feeling your chest constrict with sadness and love for him, you fought your turbulent emotions, and placed a soft kiss to his forehead. Blinking your own tears away.

"You're also so deserving, Arthur. Please don't ever doubt how amazing you are, how worthy of love you are. There's no one else I'd rather be with, and I'd be proud to tell the entire world that you're mine."

Leaning down, he drew your lips into a deep kiss, pouring all the love he had into it. Hoping to convey just how grateful he was for your reassurance. How thankful he was that you were his.

The two of you spent the rest of the morning in blissful contentment. You talked, made love again, had breakfast in bed, then showered together. You giggling at Arthur's boyish shyness, an endearing quality of his that you adored. It amused you to think that the man blushing as you ran soapy hands over his chest was the same man who'd ravished you in bed three times now.

Afterwards you dressed, discussing how to spend the rest of the day, before eventually leaving your hotel room.  
You wanted to go back to Arthur's apartment. It's simplistic, homely coziness felt like home to you now. Arthur himself felt like home.

As you made your way through the hotel lobby, proudly holding your new beau's hand, your heart felt light as a feather.  
But then it dropped like a stone upon seeing the obnoxiously familiar figure of Trent appear as if from nowhere, but now he was ambushing you both, blocking your path to the exit.

"Well would you look at this. Here's the happy couple." He sneered, dragging his judgmental gaze over every inch of Arthur.

"Trent, go away.. Don't make a scene." You hissed.

"Don't make a scene? Surely it wouldn't bother you (y/n). After all, you're no stranger to negative publicity."

"Jesus Christ, Trent! What is your problem?"

"My problem?" He clutched a hand to his chest dramatically, raising his voice. "Let's talk about your problem shall we? Like the fact you're so unprofessional you can't even be bothered to learn your lines--"

"Look, why don't you just leave us alone?" Arthur broke-in, bravely guiding you around him and towards the doors.

"Ooh, so the clown speaks. And he's even got a backbone, who knew?" Trent taunted, following behind.

"Just ignore him." You told Arthur, as a doorman held the door open for you both.

You could see him grinding his teeth. In fact he was grinding them so damn hard you feared for his back molars. Poor Arthur. He didn't deserve to be caught up in all this drama.   
You were silently praying that Trent wouldn't follow, but to your utter dismay when you glanced back over your shoulder, he was still there.

"Aren't you both so fucking adorable." Instead of slowing, his pace increased, until he was close enough to reach out and shove Arthur forwards aggressively, making him stumble slightly.

"Trent!"

"You must think you've won the fucking lottery, huh? (y/n) pity fucking you. Well don't get used to it pal, she'll soon get bored of your sorry ass!"

Unable to contain your temper you whirled around to face him, your cheeks blazing with anger and embarrassment on Arthur's behalf. "Shut your filthy mouth! Don't talk to him like that and push him around. I love him!"

Seemingly surprised, Trent's eyes widened in disbelief. "Love him? Seriously? What, you love...this?"

He poked Arthur roughly in the shoulder. His shoulders swayed back a little but he kept his footing, his body not budging an inch. You could see his jaw set, the muscles tightening in his face.

"Don't do that." Arthur warned, his voice eerily calm.

"Or what?" Trent demanded, continuing to poke him in what must have been an extremely irritating manner. "You gonna try and stop me pal?"

Arthur's eyes flashed dangerously. Taking on a hard, glacial look, making them look fierce and frightening. "I'm not your pal."

The pair were poised on either side of you now, like a couple of prize fighters, and you honestly don't know how either man was going to react next. You're pretty sure Trent would never pick a fight with an opponent he didn't think he could beat, and you could sense the direction he was about to go marching in.

With ill-fated confidence it seemed.

"You don't say." He brayed with laughter. "Really (y/n), you fell for this moron? I guess that's the only thing you must have in common."

You're about to retaliate when suddenly his laugh dissipated abruptly, as Arthur went lunging forwards, grabbing Trent by the front of his shirt. He swung his fists wildly but was too slow and clumsy, Arthur being much more nimble and agile, managing to dodge his punches. 

You rush towards them as Arthur slammed your co-star hard into the side of a delivery van that was parked by the roadside. You flinched at the sound, as the van rocked with the force of the impact, and you were worried there might be an identifiable Trent-shaped dent left there, like something from a cartoon.

Arthur had never been in a fight. Not a physical fist fight where he'd had the opportunity to throw some punches of his own. In spite of the beatings he'd taken in the past, he'd never felt pushed to this extreme. Never been at the point of blistering, boiling rage before. And the adrenaline coursing through his veins gave him the strength and courage of Hercules.

Needless to say, Trent had literally had the wind knocked out of him, and he gasped for breath as Arthur leaned in closer to his face oppressively.  
He may be tall and slim, but Arthur was clearly much more powerful than he appeared to be at first glance.

"Listen to me you obnoxious asshole! From now on you leave (y/n) alone, have you got that? Stop disrespecting her! Because if I hear you have just one more time....I'll fucking kill you! D'you understand?" Arthur snarled, lips curling like a feral dog.

"Arthur!" You exclaimed, a little panicked by his angry outburst.

A few passers by had stopped to stare now, but Arthur was temporarily blinded by rage, pressing Trent even harder into the side of the vehicle until his eyes bulged like a caricature drawing.

"I said....do you understand me, you arrogant piece of shit?"

Trent somehow managed to nod his head, indicating that he understood.

"Arthur. Leave it now. Please. He isn't worth it." You implored him.

Arthur turned his head to look at you, and he released Trent immediately. Shaking off his anger as if it were a dusting of flour.  
You placed your trembling hand gently on his shoulder. He looked at you and his eyes seemed to clear. All traces of aggression disappearing.

"Shit, (y/n). I'm sorry."

Quickly linking your arm through his, you tried to make light of the situation. "Don't be sorry Artie. Thank you for defending me. Wow. You really are....full of surprises."

Trent was still standing by the van, his face in a daze, and then all at once another commotion broke out nearby. Confused, you turn with Arthur to look, and see the dreaded paparazzi come barrelling down the street towards you, clutching their cameras, trying to snap photographs in the process.

Great. This party just got even more fun.

"(y/n)!" They all called out annoyingly, as if they wasn't just journalists looking for their next victim, but old acquaintances who were on familiar terms with you.

Your gaze slides to Arthur and he looks like a frightened animal. His body going rigid with tension. He clasped a hand to his mouth, feeling the unwelcome onset of a laughing attack, brought on by anxiety.

You quickly grabbed his free hand and tried to pull him along the sidewalk but he refused to budge, as if in shock. You yank on him but still he doesn't shift, and his 6ft frame was far from easy to move.

"Come on Artie, let's get out of here." You held onto his hand, and urged him forwards. 

He looked like he was going to protest but relented, and the pair of you began walking away quickly. With each step you took, you moved a little faster until you broke into a full-blown run.

Your shoes didn't feel the safest, sliding a little on the wet asphalt, but Arthur kept a secure grip on your hand, and when your hand was in his you felt almost invincible.   
Like you could take on the world and win.

Overhead there came a sudden rumble of thunder, and within a few seconds the heavens opened. Other pedestrians made a mad dash for shelter in store doorways, or scurried off down the street, but you and Arthur just keep on running.

Finally you came to a stop, both of you breathless and tired. You were both soaked to the skin but it didn't seem to matter. Your love for each other served as an umbrella from the rain, rendering you immune to the downpour.

"I think we're safe now. They don't seem to have followed us." You panted, chancing a look back.

"I really hope I haven't caused you any trouble." Arthur managed to vocalise between gasping breaths, as he wiped his face on the back of his sleeve. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."

"Don't even worry about it." You assured him, smiling. "Honestly, I couldn't give a fuck anymore. You're all that matters to me Arthur."

His sudden, soft bark or laughter startled you a little, but the joyous sound immediately warmed you to the bone, staving off the shiver from the pouring rainfall which penetrated your clothes, soaking your skin.  
And then he was grabbing you gently but assertively by the waist, his other hand holding yours at arms length, as he began dancing.

At first you almost tripped over your own feet trying to keep pace, but then your steps fell in synch somehow. You threw your head back, laughing, allowing him to lead you in a joyful waltz down the deserted sidewalk.

It felt incredibly liberating and euphoric. Cleansing even. An overwhelming sense of freedom came over you, a happy sort of hysteria, increasing with every movement. You could feel all your cares and anxieties lifting as he guided you along with graceful mastery.

"God, I love you (y/n)." Arthur grinned, willingly surrendering his heart and mind to the sweet madness of love. "Will you be mine forever?"

"I will." You giggled girlishly with delight, feeling a little dizzy as he suddenly pulled you in towards him. "Forever and ever."

And then he was kissing you deeply, kissing you senseless. Kissing you until the only thing that made sense to you was his sublime lips. And you clung onto him tightly because he was the only real, solid thing in this surreal, spinning world.   
The world that had been so dull and colourless before he came along and turned it upside down. Unexpectedly sweeping you off your feet, like the most unlikeliest of heroes in a fairytale.

Or maybe even a romantic movie. But a good one.

The very best in fact. Because this was a true story.  
Yours and Arthur's.

End


	16. Unconditionally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This 1part Imagine was a request~
> 
> You're in a relationship with Arthur/Joker and you shower him with all the love and affection he's never had.
> 
> Lots of feels and fluff!
> 
> \--1st person POV--

He'd never looked more beautiful to you than he did right now.

You were lay in his bed, well your bed, propped up on one elbow, your (y/e/c) eyes devouring his face. Watching him closely, mesmerised as he glides the makeup brush down over the high plains of his cheekbones in slow, methodical strokes.

To you Arthur is gorgeous at the best of times, but as you silently watch him you're struck by the glow that seems to surround him as he focuses intently on his task. You've never seen him quite as attractive as he is right now, occupied with this creative energy to the exclusion of all else.

He's sitting at his mom's old vanity, his bare back facing towards you. You can't help noticing the difference in his physique. Sure, Arthur is still very slim, but each single vertebrae in his spine is no longer visible like it used to be, and the sight makes your smile grow wider still. 

Since you've been together his appetite is slowly but surely increasing. Years of taking medication wreaked havoc with his metabolism, effected his appetite to the extent that he scarcely ate at all. Surviving on a meagre bowl of porridge a day, his staple diet mostly consisting of cigarettes and strong coffee.

But he's not taken his medication for a while now, and he claims he feels much better for it. More alert, and liberated even. You've come to understand that liberation he speaks of is Joker being set free. Joker being Arthur's alter-ego. The charismatic, confident clown that is bolder, more mischievous, and more outspoken than Arthur is as himself.

And the transformation takes place once the makeup and red suit is on.

You consider yourself to be the luckiest girl in the world, being able to refer to this rare, beautiful anomaly of a man as your significant other, and ever since you've been an item you've spent every moment trying to convince him that he's worthy of love.

Without the greasepaint, Arthur is still plagued by his insecurities. A toxic combination of a lifetime of drudgery, mental illness, childhood neglect, mockery and abuse, meant he suffered a loveless, lonely existence.  
That is until Joker broke free and he set the whole of Gotham aflame with his controversial behaviour. And like the rest of his "followers" you found the uproar and chaos he caused, dangerous and delicious.   
It made you feel alive and more inclined to live for the moment. Yours along with many others dreary lives in Gotham had suddenly become more meaningful, more exciting, thanks to him.

You'd been returning from the protest rally down at city hall on that infamous, life-changing night. It was a happy accident that you'd taken the route home which led you passed the scene where you'd witnessed the clown prince of crime's rise to power.   
The way he'd danced flamboyantly on the hood of the smashed-up cop car had captivated you. Enchanted you like some other-worldly creature.  
Your eyes had met across the crowd, surrounded by flames and rioting mobs.  
And the rest was history.

You've come to know both sides of the man you were infatuated with. Arthur and 'Joker', and your infatuation has deepened and evolved into a warm friendship and unconditional love.

You adored him with every fibre of your being, and you'd grown to understand him. His fears, his passions, his insecurities, his pleasure, his pain.  
And whilst it was undeniably true that as Joker, Arthur was flourishing, but even in his moments of glory his piercing eyes were always noticeably glassy. The blue painted triangle around his left eye much longer than the right, due to the silent tears he shed.

You'd vowed to make it your mission, your sole responsibility, to ensure he cried no more. Unless they were happy tears. Tears of unrivalled joy, as you repaired his previously brittle heart. Loving him so hard that all of his broken pieces stuck back together again.

Just then, exquisite sea green eyes met yours in the vanity mirror. His gaze so intense it sent a cluster of tingles down your spine.

Smiling a little, Arthur said, "Well, good morning sleepyhead. I didn't know you were awake. How long have you been staring at me?"

"Not long enough." You giggled in response.

Laughter, tantalising and real, lit his eyes as he continued to look at you in the reflection of the glass. "Why would you want to?"

Climbing from beneath the comforter you crawled down the bed towards him. "Mmm, you know why."

"Do I?" He raised an eyebrow, looking at you coquettishly through his long lashes.

"Arthur, you know I love it when you're being coy. You're so sexy."

Kneeling on the bottom of the bed you leaned forwards and wrapped your arms around him, resting your chin on his shoulder.

Beneath the white paint his face grew more pink, flustered by your comment.  
You knew he loved your compliments, he just wasn't entirely sure how to accept them yet. Your attentions made his heart soar. The heart that had once sat in his chest, hardened, cold and heavy like a stone. Now, thanks to you, it felt light as a feather. Like it might float away. And he needed you. Needed you there to catch it just in case it did.

Swivelling around on his stool to face you, his gentle smile lit up his alabaster face. "I still can't believe that you're real." He said, in that deep, yet soft, voice of his.

His proclamation would have melted your heart but his adorableness had long since caused it to melt into a gooey mess. 

God, you loved him so much. There were no words to define it.

"Does this feel real enough to you?" You asked as you took his large hands in your daintier ones, bringing each one up in turn and kissing them.

Arthur's eyes flickered shut. You loved seeing his reactions. The way he responded to your actions. In the beginning he hadn't known how to respond. Never having been shown such love before. On the rare occasion he'd spoke of his past relationships, it didn't take a genius to work out that he wasn't accustomed to affection....

"I..I've only ever kissed three people." 

He'd once admitted to you, awkwardly.

"The first time was a girl in school, and she....she only did it for a dare. The second time was a girl I met at the comedy club. She was drunk, so it didn't mean anything...."

"And the third?"

You'd urged cautiously, not wanting to make him feel embarrassed or pressured into talking about his past experiences with women.

"S-she was a girl from the community centre where my mom, uh, Penny, used to go on Sundays. She was a volunteer there. We actually went on a couple of dates, but it didn't go anywhere. She found the laughing thing too difficult to deal with. It made her feel uncomfortable when we were out in public."

His admittance made your heart ache with sadness for him. You told him that woman was a fool for not accepting him for who he was, laugh and all.  
Then you'd told him how his condition made him unique, special, and you would never be ashamed of him. On the contrary you were proud to be his girlfriend. His friend. His lover.

It had taken Arthur a long while to feel confident enough to make love to you.   
His willing body had been overruled by his mind. His insecurities about his appearance, his physique, coupled with the concerns he had regarding his lack of sexual experience had held him back for months. 

When he'd finally gained the courage to take you to bed he'd done it as Joker, and was yet to feel comfortable enough to engage with you sexually without his makeup.  
You respected his wishes and didn't push him, and he loved you all the more for your patience and understanding.

Leaving him in peace to finish the lengthy process of painting his face, you got up and went into the kitchen to fix him some breakfast.

"(y/n) you're too good to me." He remarked, upon walking into the living room to see the pile of toast and jam you'd made him, along with coffee.

The coffee was strong and sweet just how he liked it. The caffeine helped keep him awake and the sugar gave him the energy he needed to keep him going when he had a long day ahead, ruling his clown army. 

"Not at all." You replied, smiling contently as he began munching on a slice of toast. "You deserve to be loved, Arthur. And this is just my way of showing how much I love you."

"I know." His red painted lips made his grin appear more devilish. "But I still can't figure out what I did to deserve you. You're an angel. And I'm like a...a demon, or something."

"No you're not. Don't say that. You're so precious."

Arthur devoured the entire plate of toast in a matter of a few minutes. He finished his coffee, lit a cigarette, and followed you into the kitchen.

"Thank you sweetheart, that was delicious. Just like you."

You blushed a little and couldn't help smiling moronically. He was always more forthcoming with compliments when he was in full Joker get-up.   
And of course you loved it.

"I don't want to ruin your lipstick." You giggled as he threaded his arms around you, pulling you close. His lips hungry for something more than just food.

"I'll take the chance." He chuckled, nuzzling your neck. "It's more than worth it."

Before you could respond his lips were on yours. He'd moved towards you so quickly and forcefully he was pushing you back against the counter.   
Blood rushed around your entire body, making you feel wired and hot.  
His palms squeezed your hips urgently, like he was desperate to hold onto you forever. And you would gladly let him.

Your hands shifted from his chest to his neck, before sliding them into his emerald curls, winding your fingers through each lock, no doubt messing up his gelled, slicked-back look.

You were forced to break the kiss in order to catch your breath, and you rested your forehead against his.

"A-Arthur, sweetie, as much as I never want to stop kissing you...you're going to be late." 

Taking a step back he ran a hand over his tousled hair, smoothing it down, and rolled his eyes. Not at you. He was just frustrated that he had to leave when all he really wanted to do was carry you into the bedroom, bridal style, throw you onto the soft mattress and make passionate love to you.

But he had a job to do. His 'people' would be eagerly awaiting their leader. 

"You're right. I guess we'll have to wait until I get home then." He grumbled, retrieving his burning cigarette from the ashtray.

"I'll be waiting." Slipping your arms around his waist you pulled him in for one last hug before he left. "You take care of yourself, d'you hear? I want you home safe and in one piece."

"Anything for you (y/n). I promise I'll stay safe. For you."

You walked him to the door, sad as always watching him go.   
Slipping his cigarette between his lips he turned back to you just before entering the elevator,

"Oh and that colour lipstick looks really good on you." He winked.

Your reached up and touched your still tingling lips, and smiled happily to yourself. 

***

As a result of the uprising, Gotham was almost predominantly free for the taking, and Joker had taken it.

He and his band of clowns ensured that the poor residents of the city no longer had to struggle to survive. The criminal syndicate robbed banks and other wealthy establishments then distributed the money fairly, so nobody had to live in poverty anymore.  
Of course it was illegal and risky, and you worried for your beloved's safety, but his commitment to his cause made him a hero in your eyes. Like some sort of modern day incarnation of Robin Hood, robbing the rich to help out the poor.

Whenever he'd carried out a bank heist Arthur would come home exhausted and often with a few minor scrapes and bruises. He wasn't the steadiest on his feet, but his clumsiness was just another one of his endearing attributes. Tripping and falling as he ran from police, you were forever imploring him to be more careful, as you tended to his grazed knees, elbows and hands.

Anticipating his arrival that evening, you drew him a nice hot bath to help soothe his aching muscles. 

When you heard the sound of his key turning in the lock you eagerly rushed to greet him.

"Hi honey, I'm home." He quipped, grinning crookedly as you threw your arms around his neck. "Did you miss me?"

His makeup was even more of a smudged mess than usual, having melted as a result of him sweating.

"As always." You retorted, kissing his cheek.   
You'd grown accustomed to the taste of greasepaint. His distinctive scent of cigarettes mingled with the spicy zing of his cologne.

"How was your day?" He asked.

His attentiveness never failed to touch you. Always enquiring how your day had been, when his had clearly been rough and fraught with danger.

"It was okay. I caught up with some friends, did some baking..."

Hie eyes instantly lit up. "I don't suppose you made--?"

"Triple chocolate cookies? Sure did. Just for you, my gorgeous."

"You're an angel." Cupping your face tenderly, he pressed a single, perfect kiss against your smiling lips.

"How was your day?"

"Oh, you know, exhausting and hectic as usual." Slipping out of his red jacket he tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

"I know you wouldn't." You smiled knowingly, shaking your head in amusement.   
Arthur was truly one of a kind. He seemed to thrive on chaos. The danger making him feel empowered and more alive.  
"Dinner's in the oven and won't be long, but you have time to take a bath. I've filled the tub for you."

Arthur stood motionless for a long moment, just staring at you in awe, as if he still wasn't convinced of your existence.

"You spoil me (y/n). I don't know what I'd do without you, light of my darkness."

Tears begin to form at the corners of your eyes and you hurriedly blinked them away, not wanting him to mistake them for sadness. Arthur couldn't bear to see you cry. Even when it was just a sad scene in a movie that moved you to tears, he would insist on telling you jokes, or quite literally acting the clown, until he had you laughing again.

He went to take his bath while you checked on the casserole, which was one of Arthur's favourite dishes.

A few minutes later you made your way down the hall, and seeing the bathroom door slightly ajar, slowly pushed it open.

"(y/n)!" He exclaimed, shocked by your unexpected entrance.

"Sorry, I just wanted to check you hadn't gotten into any scrapes while you were out."

His freshly washed face turned dusky. He was standing by the sink shirtless and only wearing his boxers. It was a sight you stupidly hadn't been prepared for, but you'd expected him to be in the bath by now, immersed up to his chest in foamy bubbles.

"I-it's okay, you don't need to apologise." He murmured, looking down shyly. "You know I just don't want you seeing me...you know, naked."

"Oh Arthur, the last thing I ever want to do is make you feel uncomfortable." You gave an apologetic smile, taking hold of his hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. "But you don't ever have to hide from me. I love you for you, unconditionally. You're beautiful."

He scoffed, eyes narrowing sceptically until they were little more than a faint greenish glitter. "I'm not beautiful."

"You might not think so but I do. We all have imperfections, I have plenty of my own."

"No you don't. You're perfect."

"To you maybe, but that's precisely my point."

His nervous eyes studied your face intently, as if searching for signs that you were lying simply just to try and assuage his fears.

Feeling defeated, you sighed heavily. Sad that you weren't able to convince him of your sincerity.

"I...I'm sorry."

"It's okay, sweetie. I don't want to pressure you." 

Turning to leave, you suddenly felt his hand gently catch hold of your arm.

"No, I mean I'm sorry for doubting you. It's just, I'm not pretty to look at, and I still don't understand what it is you see in me, or why you love me so much."

"Oh, Arthur--"

"But I guess I don't have to understand. I know that you do love me, regardless of how I feel about myself." He interjected, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You prove to me everyday in a million different ways that you love me, and you'll never know how much that means to me."

His nose flared as he let out a hard breath, and you watched in stunned silence as he anxiously slipped out of his boxers, then climbed into the tub right before your very eyes.

And honestly, you didn't think you would ever grow bored of seeing him naked.  
The fact that he now trusted you enough to do so, meant everything to you. Knowing the courage it must've taken him to strip with the lights on, and without wearing his makeup, you wasted no time in letting him know how much you appreciated him making the effort to overcome his hang-ups.

"Thank you, Arthur. I'm so glad you felt comfortable enough to do that." 

With a casual shrug of the shoulder, he tried hard to play down the importance of such an important development. "I mean, I guess it wasn't that bad. I was being an idiot."

"You're not an idiot. You're amazing."

Taking a seat beside the bath, you kissed his forehead tenderly, then picked up the jug and began washing his glorious mane of hair.

"Have I told you lately how much I love you, Arthur Fleck?" You smiled a besotted smile, admiring the way in which his lips curled upwards in return, softening the stern contours of his handsome face.

"Not in the last few minutes." He chuckled, the sound of his genuine laughter warming you like summer rain. "And I'll never get tired of hearing it."

End


	17. Werewolf And Go Wild! (Pt.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2part oneshot ~ You're attracted to the mysterious Joker but he recognises you from somewhere and he's got an axe to grind.
> 
> ⚠️ warning: Part 2 will contain heavy smut,
> 
> \-- 1st person POV --

You stare in awe at the scene playing out before you, your feet unwilling to move as if your shoes have been nailed to the floor.

All around you is chaos, destruction, violence. A saner person would have fled. Sought refuge in their home or anywhere else rather than be roaming Gotham on a night like this. 

But you had done the complete opposite, because you weren't the sensible type.  
You like so many others had taken to the streets after seeing Joker's impassioned rant on live TV, which had culminated in the crazed wannabe-comedian shooting the talkshow host Murray Franklin dead.

It had been jolting to witness, yet oddly exciting because it sparked the dawning of a new era. An era where the underprivileged and lower classes rebelled against their oppressors. 

You felt such a deep affinity to Joker. 

He inspired you to werewolf and go wild.

You'd stumbled upon the wreckage where a crash had taken place by chance, and couldn't believe your luck once you realised Joker himself was here.  
Standing on the hood of a destroyed cop car, arms flung out as he basked in the acclaim of his clown army. His followers.  
They idolised him. Worshiped him even. 

And so did you.

Something about the boldness of him, the wild aura he possessed, thrilled you.  
He was mysterious, fascinating and dangerous, all of which you found incredibly sexy.

And like a smitten, lovestruck fangirl you yearned to make a connection with your new idol and crush. To have him see you.

You pull off your clown mask as you manoeuvre through the large crowd, edging nearer towards the cop car.

He's turning slowly, makeup smeared and blood on his face, his eyes scanning the gathering supporters. Their cheers are deafening but all noise seems to fade into the distance when his watery eyes accidentally meet yours.

He stops and stares right at you, causing a cluster of tingles to wriggle down your spine.

Everything else dissolves around you. The mob, the fiery carnage, all falls out of focus, becoming insignificant and forgotten.

He sees you. In fact he's looking at you with a hint of recognition, as if shaken almost, and then the look turns more wicked.

Joker moves suddenly. Jumping down with all the flair of a showman, crunching the broken glass beneath his shoes as he approaches the nearest couple of thugs in the rowdy group and exchanges a few quick words with them; already slipping comfortably into the role of a leader, and these his willing subjects, eager to do his bidding.

Then he's heading your way and the breath sticks in your throat.  
Can it be possible?  
He's heading straight for you and the crowd part for him obediently.

"Do you have any idea how damn lucky you are?" A female voice from behind a clown mask hisses near your ear. "I'd give anything to be you right now."

The woman falls silent as Joker is suddenly there, and you find yourself face-to-face with his chest.  
He's taller than you realised, so you have to tilt your head back to look up at his face.

"Hey." He says casually, in that sexy, slightly raspy, voice.

"Hey." You manage in return and chance a coy smile.

His eyes rake over you in silent assessment, making you feel hot in spite of the cold night air.

"Wanna go some place more private and....talk?" He asks with a crooked smile. "Maybe we could get to know each other a little better."

You've never accepted an invitation like this from a complete stranger before, but this is Joker. You'd be crazy to say no. Probably everyone here would kill to be in your position.

"Uh, y-yeah, sure."

His smile broadens and to your surprise he drapes his arm casually around your shoulders and begins to steer you away, moving you along the littered sidewalk like a mannequin on wheels.

It feels as if you walk miles through the burning city, Joker not saying a word as he seems mesmerised by the flames and carnage.  
And you don't really know what to say. It's all so surreal you expect to wake up and find it was all just a dream.

After climbing the gruelling 130 steps that you know so well, eventually you reach an apartment building and the two goons from earlier step out from the archway to meet you both.  
One of them is clutching a bag which he hands over to Joker, and you hear what sounds like bottles clinking and assume it's alcohol.

"We did as you asked. The coast is all clear, boss. No sign of the cops." One of the men inform him.

He nods. "I want you to stick around and keep a lookout for me. Any sign of the cops showing up, let me know."

He then ushers you through the archway and into the building. All the while he remains silent but you don't question it. Thinking he must be the silent, deep-thinking type.

"Is this your place?" You ask, as the creaky old elevator makes its precarious assent.

"Yeah. It's awful isn't it?"

"It's....okay. It's actually not unlike my own apartment block. Rent is so damn high these days, even working full time isn't enough to afford somewhere nice."

He nods. "Where is it you work?"

"At the pharmacy, Helms. It's actually not too far from here."

"Is that right?"

"Yeah. It's literally just down those godawful stairs and a bit further up the street."

The elevator stops at the third floor and you step out, following him along the hallway to apartment number B33. He twists the key into the lock, opening the door and gesturing for you to step inside first.

The place is dimly lit by a couple of small lamps, but you immediately notice what looks suspiciously like a large blood stain on the wall.  
That's when the reality of the situation hits you.

Joker is a killer.

Sure he's interesting, sexy and mysterious, but he's still a killer.

"Want a drink?" 

You jump a little, having been lost in your thoughts. He's coming out of the kitchen, holding out a bottle of beer to you.

Well, one drink won't do any harm. You can't exactly get drunk off one lousy beer.

"Sure, why not? Thanks."

He clinks his own bottle against yours and grins. "Here's to making new friends."

You watch as he slips out of his jacket and tosses it onto a nearby chair, then he settles himself down on his worn couch.

"You gonna stand there all night?" He teases. "Or are you going to sit down and tell me more about yourself?"

Shyly you take a seat on the opposite end of the couch. "What is it you want to know?" 

"Well how 'bout your name to start with?"

You blush a little, feeling kind of silly. "My names (y/n). I'm (y/a) years old and I've lived in Gotham all my life."

"That's too bad." He gives a sympathetic smile. "I'm a lifelong Gotham resident too and this city sucks, right?"

You laugh and nod in agreement, but then boldly say. "It does, but now things might hopefully start to improve."

"And whys that?"

"Because of the uprising. Because of...you."

His eyes snap to your face. You can't make out his eye colour due to the subdued lighting, which just makes them look black and glistening, like two obsidian pools.

"You think I did what I did to start a movement?" His voice is laced with amusement, but you surprise him with your answer.

"No I saw your interview with Murray Franklin. I know it wasn't intentional."

"So what difference can I make?" 

You take a swig of your beer and contemplate his question for a moment before answering. 

"I think you've already made a difference. You inspired us outsiders to werewolf and go wild. Now the rich bastards will get what they fucking deserve!"

Joker lets out a wild burst of laughter. It's maniacal and almost bone chilling, lasting considerably longer than what would be deemed comfortable.

"You quoted me twice. That's sweet." He says when his laughter subsides. "How nice of you to pay attention."

Feeling braver you dare to meet his eyes and hold his gaze, even though it makes you feel hot and prickly as if your nerve endings are on fire.

"It's kind of impossible to not pay attention to you."

"You think so?"

"Yeah I mean, you're so different from everybody else."

"I always have been." He remarks sadly. "But nobody ever noticed me. It's like I didn't even exist."

Without thinking you reach over and give his knee a bolstering squeeze, which takes him by surprise. "But you've been noticed now, by the entire population of this city. And those people, your...your followers, they look up to you."

Shifting his position on the couch so that he's turned towards you, he holds your gaze unwaveringly. "And do you look up to me (y/n)?"

Nervously you give a small nod. 

"How come?" He looks genuinely intrigued, as if he's eager to hear the answer.

And now you don't know what to say. You kind of want to let him know that you're attracted to him, if that isn't obvious already, but you didn't want to come across as shallow. It wasn't just his looks that captivated you.

"Because I think you're an icon. You've given people a voice and encouraged them to stand up to the system. It was really brave of you to admit what you'd done. And I just find you inspiring."

He smiles a genuinely heart-stopping smile, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. "No kiddin'?"

You giggle and take another huge gulp of your drink for courage. It doesn't taste nice at all but you need it for courage, as it doesn't escape your notice that he's edging closer to you.

"And uh, do you find me anything else other than inspiring?"

You shift nervously in your seat, feeling giddy due to the heavily charged atmosphere that's fraught with anticipation.

"I do." You admit bravely . "You're handsome."

"Yeah?" 

Joker was practically at your side now, as he prowled forwards like a lean, long panther. 

"D'you think I'm sexy?" 

You almost choke on your beer. Your face grows hot and you can't seem to think straight. 

"Y-yes." 

He quirks an eyebrow suggestively, grinning like a feral cat. "You do? Hm. Well that's fortunate because I think you are too (y/n)."

Your stomach flips and your heart is pounding in your chest. If you didn't know before then you know for sure now that he's going to kiss you, as he takes the bottle of beer from your trembling hand and sets it down on the table.

Then all at once he surges forward and claims your mouth with his, making you gasp. His passion and ferocity is both alarming and arousing, and it's like nothing you've ever experienced before. His hands feel so masculine and strong as they cup your face, whilst your hands grab onto his shoulders blindly as you kiss him back, eager to reciprocate his passion.

But something doesn't feel right. 

Your head is whirling. At first you'd put it down to your excitement but now you're feeling woozy. You open your eyes and pull away from him, breaking the luxurious kiss.

"Is something the matter (y/n)?" You hear his voice as though its coming from far away. "Has that beer gone straight to your head?" 

You try to shake your head but you don't feel in control of your own body. When you try to speak your words come out slurred and incomprehensible.  
Then your muscles turn to jello so you can't even sit up any longer, instead you flop back against the shabby cushions.

"There's no point trying to fight it (y/n). You can't."

What the hell? 

Your wild eyes stare up at Joker's smirking face  
What the fuck has he done? Spiked your drink? Oh god, why?  
What reason would he have to do that?

But now your vision is growing hazy and the room, along with Joker's face, is spinning wildly and your brain slows to a crawl.

Does he want you dead? It didn't make any sense. What possible problem could he have with you? You are one of his supporters. It didn't seem fair.  
But you knew only too well that life often isn't fair.

You make one desperate last attempt at speech but your tongue doesn't seem to move right in your mouth.  
Sinking into a fathomless darkness, you feel as if you're collapsing piece by piece, until the room turns black as your eyes close, and then....nothingness.

♝ ♞ ♟

The nothingness lasts for god knows how long, until it comes to an abrupt end. 

Suddenly you are aware of being lay down but you can't move. It takes a while for your brain to regain full function, but slowly you begin to comprehend that your wrists are tied to something.

Stirring in confusion, you try to remember what happened. Try to make sense of where you are. But you feel sick. Nausea spreads through you in repeated waves, and with each breath you draw-in your stomach churns.

Cracking your eyes open, you see the smudged outline of someone above you.  
You try to ask something, to find out what's happening, but it's like your brain has disconnected from the rest of your body.

"Aah, awake at last!" A cold voice cuts through the silence like a razor. "I was starting to get bored of waiting."

Confused, you close your eyes and try to clear your mind, but the sickness and thumping headache you have is slowing you down. 

But after a while, you connect the voice to an image.

"Jo--ker?" You murmur.

"The one and only."

Your stomach drops, the lurching sensation adding to the feelings of sickness.  
Shit. Now you could remember only too well.  
You'd gone back to his place with him and then he'd....drugged you?

"W-what...what have you...d-done to me?" You manage to croak.

You had hoped to find yourself in the presence of someone who would help you, but your instincts are screaming a restless warning. You'd been an idiot to come here with this dangerous man. Your adoration and curiosity had landed you in this mess and now you were fearing for your life.

"I haven't done anything...yet." The first glimmer of understanding comes to you and you stare up at him hazily, perceiving only the sharp outlines of his white face and the colour of his hair, emerald like his eyes.

"What are you g-going to do to me?" You demand bravely. "I haven't done a-anything to you. I'm on your side."

"But you have done something to me (y/n). You just don't remember. You have no idea do you?" His voice is little more than a growl. He sounds seriously angry. 

"What? What have I done?" Struggling to sit up, you realise your hands have been bound tightly to the headboard above your head.

You turn your perplexed gaze on your captor, but your eyes feel filmy and sticky and you can't rub them.

"You rejected me."

You shake your head in objection. "No I didn't. I wouldn't--"

"You mean you wouldn't now." He states sharply, and at last your vision settles so that you can see clearer.

You're in a bedroom. Tied to the bed. With a furious-looking Joker perched casually on the end of the mattress. He's smoking a cigarette whilst impaling you with his cold-dagger stare.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I wouldn't expect you to. I was so invisible to you before, you don't even recognise me. But I recognised you the minute I saw you."

You frown as you try to make sense of his words. "Do I know you? I'm pretty sure I don't. I would remember."

"No you don't remember." He snaps. "Why would you? I mean, I was only coming into the pharmacy with my prescription for the past two fucking years, you served me countless times, you knocked me back, but you don't remember!" Joker pauses to take a drag on his cigarette before adding, "You didn't even recognise me from the clip that Murray played on TV."

You swallow hard as you frantically search your memory, trying to piece together the clues like a puzzle.

He knew you from the pharmacy. The man in the video clip laughed a lot...

Wait.

Now you thought about it you could recall a guy who was on medication for some bizarre condition that made him laugh uncontrollably. But he hadn't been in for his meds in a while.

He did ask you out on a date once and...

Shit. You turned him down.

"Wait a minute!" You exclaim, as the final piece fell into position. "Your name's Arthur, right? Arthur Flick."

"Fleck!"

"Of course...I'm so sorry." You stare at the man sitting before you as he stands and stubs his cigarette out on the wall.

He was so different. So confident. So flamboyant.  
It was hardly surprising that you hadn't recognised him.  
The Arthur Fleck you knew was timid, quiet and shy. He wore plain coloured clothes and never even so much as raised his voice.

And yet now he was Joker?  
It didn't seem possible.

"Is...is that really you, Arthur?" You chance a smile, hoping to reason with him. The Arthur you'd known was a nice enough guy. Surely he'd be willing to listen.

"Arthur's not here anymore." His red lips curled into a devilish grin. "I'm the Joker now, baby."

"Please Arth-- I mean Joker, please.....just let me go. Let me go and I swear I won't breath a word to anyone about this. About where you live. Who you are..."

Your words trail off as he walks towards you, taking deliberately slow steps to increase the tension.

"You won't breath at all if you call me Arthur again. Got it?"

Your throat tightens with fear and you nod dumbly.

"As for not telling anyone my name or where I live, the cops already know so it doesn't bother me."

"You're not going to let me go are you?"

He gives another smile and this one is even more devastating. More handsome.  
You wish you didn't find him attractive but you do, damn him.

"Not until I've taught you a lesson (y/n)."

"What lesson? If this is about me not going on a date with you then I'm sorry. I really am."

"You should never judge a book by its cover. That's what they say." He chuckles as if genuinely amused by the absurdity of the entire situation. "It's funny isn't it, you wouldn't even go for coffee with Arthur but you came up here hoping to fuck Joker."

Your face flushes hot in anger and humiliation. "Excuse me? What makes you think that was such a given?"

Joker rolls his eyes in exasperation. "Aw come on (y/n) it's pretty obvious that you want to fuck me."

Scowling at him, you pull in desperation at the rope that's binding your hands. "Yeah, well...maybe even if I wanted to then it doesn't mean I would now. Not after this."

Leaning over you oppressively you feel his hot, angry breath against your cheek. "Oh you will. That's how I'm going to teach you a lesson."

"W-what?"

"Well, Arthur would have been considerate and gentle, but joker..." His voice is now filled with sympathetic mockery. "...hm...Joker, not so much."

His torrid words cause goosebumps to rise on your skin. Now you realise what his sinister intentions are your heart is hammering against your rib cage and it's a miracle that he doesn't hear it. 

"Joker, please. I'm sorry I didn't recognise you. I should've given you a chance when you asked me out on a date. I'm a fucking idiot! But you don't have to...to do this. You don't have to teach me a lesson. I get it now, I'm sorry."

"It's too late for sorry (y/n). You wanted to party with Joker.....and Joker's going to see to it that you get what you fucking deserve."


	18. Werewolf And Go Wild! (Pt.2)

"It's too late for sorry (y/n). You wanted to party with Joker.....and Joker's going to see to it that you get what you fucking deserve."

His words resound inside my head and turn my blood to ice.

Oh god.

"No." I say firmly, trying to steady the tremor in my voice.

"Yes!" He snaps, turning to punch the wall with excessive force, leaving a dent in the plaster. "Don't tell me fucking no when it's what you want!"

I fall silent and stare at him fearfully with wide eyes, and in spite of being afraid I find myself wondering if he's hurt his hand.  
That is until suddenly he's above me, his movements so quick it's as if I blinked and missed it.

"It doesn't have to be like this." I wail, kicking my legs wildly, trying to keep him away as his large hands grasp and tug frenziedly at my clothes like a madman.

But he's persistent and much stronger than he looks, which means within a matter of seconds he's stripped me right down to my underwear.

"Oh it does. I kinda like you fighting me." He drawls, as he kneels on the end of the bed. "It turns me on, you acting like you don't want this. But you do really. I know you do."

He crawls forward on his hands and knees then grips my panties and rips them clean off, making me squeal helplessly.

"I like your noises too. I want to hear you make more."

I try to bring my knees up and clamp my legs together in a desperate attempt to preserve some modesty, but he's having none of it.  
To my embarrassment his hands grasp my knees and forces them back down, prising my legs apart.

"Don't do that." He says aggressively. "I want to look at you." 

"Please..."

"Shusssh." He shushes me as if I'm interrupting his moment, his viewing pleasure, as his eyes drink-in the sight of my nakedness. 

His expression is surprising. It's one of awe, fascination, and unmistakable want.

"Shit." He breaths heavily. "You're even more beautiful than I imagined."

For a brief moment his eyes meet mine, before being drawn back down again. Then with almost irritating calmness, he leisurely teases his finger against my opening; searching for my clit.  
I gasp and squirm, trying to somehow escape his touch, but it's utterly hopeless.

He has me exactly where he wants me, at his mercy, and there's nothing I can do about it.

"D'you know I used to fantasise about you? About all the things I'd like to do to you? Man..." He chuckles softly to himself at the memory. "Thinking about you this way always made me so fucking hard. Just like I am now." His torrid words wash over me and heat begins to gather low in my belly, as all the while he continues his sensual assault. "I'd pretend it was you touching me, (y/n), every time I jacked off."

I flinch as he suddenly slides an exploratory finger inside me, and then another. 

"Mhm, you're so wet for me. Me of all people! Who'd have thought it?"

I want to respond but I can't.  
To give a witty comeback or cuss him out.  
But I can't.  
Because what he's doing to me with those long fingers, sliding them in and out, curling them inside me as his thumb rubs my throbbing clit, has caused me to lose the ability to speak in full sentences.

"Aaah....Joker..."

"Yeah?" He asks casually, as if he isn't currently finger-fucking me perfectly.

"I...mhm...."

"Sorry I didn't catch that." He grins maliciously, increasing speed, making me whimper.

And then all at once the building pleasure erupts in a glorious, unexpected orgasm, reducing me to a quivering wreck.

He sees my back bow but he gives me no time to recover, as he lowers himself down and settles his head between my thighs.

"D-don't, please--" 

My words dissolve into a hissing breath as he nuzzles into my most intimate area. The warm wetness of his tongue licking along the slick opening drives me insane.

Damn I shouldn't want this. Sure I wouldn't have refused if he'd initiated sex before, but this is different. It's like he's taken the choice away from me and all I can do is suffer his depraved attentions.

But to my shame I am actually enjoying it.

The things he's doing to my body is amazing, and being tied to the bed at his complete mercy makes the experience all the more scary and thrilling.

"Your pussy tastes so good." He murmurs against my wet folds, before sliding his tongue back inside, delving further, licking and lapping and sucking at my clit like he's barely still in control.

I'm panting and sweating, hips arching up off the bed to meet his painted, bloodied lips which now glisten in the lamplight with my juices.

"Come for me (y/n)!" He rasps between slow, teasing licks, his fingers digging painfully where he's tightening the grip on my thighs. "I want you to come again...all over my tongue."

Even if I didn't want to I couldn't prevent the shuddering climax that wracks my body a few moments later, brought on by the softest nudge of the tip of his tongue.

I'm gasping and writhing on the bed, drunk on the pleasure but still trying to show a modicum of resistance. After all, he likes me pretending not to want him, even though it's more than obvious to both of us that I do.

"Fuck! That was hot." Joker wipes his wet lips with the back of his hand, smearing the blood and greasepaint even more.

Then suddenly he comes crashing down on top of me, almost knocking the air out of my lungs. His mouth claims mine, and I wriggle beneath him as he forces my lips open so he can snake his velvety tongue inside.

The bitterness of the makeup, the metallic taste of blood and my own release, fills my mouth as he kisses me aggressively. Excitement courses through my veins, it feels sinfully good, his hot, racing breath inside my mouth.

He tugs at my bra impatiently. I hear the sound of ripping fabric and then it's gone, enabling his hands to fondle my breasts in his palms roughly.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard (y/n). Whether you want me to or not. And you're going to love every second of it."

I shake my head weakly. This kinky kind of foreplay is surprisingly sexy, but to go all the way when I'm tied down and he's all angry, is a different matter. It's unarguably freaky.

"Please untie me. If we're doing this then I want to touch you. It isn't fair, I don't want to be restrained like this." I pull on the ropes that are securing my wrists. 

"I don't care." He replies coldly, his smudged lips grinning vindictively.

Deliberately he rubs his clothed erection against the centre of my body, making me gasp. That tiny scrap of material between us feels incredible, and I'm throbbing away, wet and desperate for more.

Just to make matters worse, at that precise moment I hear a click and feel something hard and cold press against my left temple. It takes a few seconds for the realisation to dawn, but when it does, the colour drains from my face.

He's quite literally holding a gun to my head.

"It's loaded, so don't do or say anything stupid. Then I won't have to kill you."

I try to swallow the lump forming in my throat.

Is he going to kill me?

I know he's certainly capable of killing, so why would he not?

Yet there's something about the way his lean body has mine pinned against the mattress. His assertiveness is like nothing I've ever known.  
A chill skitters across my skin at the strange sensation of fear mingled with desire, which causes my body to shake in a trembling motion against him.  
I'm battling with the illicit pleasure. I don't want him to know what he's doing to me.

"You gonna behave like a good girl for me?"

Too afraid to nod my head due to the gun being pressed against my skull, I manage to croak a reply. "Y-yes."

"Yes who?" He demands.

"Yes...Joker."

"Good girl." 

Using his free hand Joker fumbles with his belt buckle. The tension in the room seems to amplify, becoming fraught with sensual anticipation and danger.  
I hear the sound of his zipper, as he somehow manages to free his large erection one-handedly.

"You want this, huh?" He asks, and I feel the tip of his hard cock probing at my slick entrance, and bite my lip nervously.

And then he's there. Pushing into me maddeningly slowly, inching further and further, stretching my sheath to accommodate his impressive size.

"Shit. You're so fucking tight." His voice comes out all ragged, and his eyes slide shut as he revels in the sensation of his throbbing shaft being encased in the warm flesh.

I grit my teeth. My god it hurts so much. Mindful of the gun I have to quickly swallow a sob, not wanting to annoy him any more than I already have.

Seemingly not able to take it anymore, Joker pulls back a little then drives his entire length fully into me with one brutal thrust.

I cry out in agony, tears immediately pooling in my eyes.

Screwing my eyes tightly closed I try to focus on something other than the pain.  
But as he goes on moving, to my relief the pain ebbs away, becoming more of a discomfort.  
The overwhelming realisation of having him deep inside of me helps. It is deliciously distracting. I can feel every inch of him impaling me in agonising bliss, unable to tell where he begins and I end.

"Ooh...god." I pant, and I see his face contort as I instinctively start rocking my pelvis back and forth, trying to match his pumping motion. 

Spurred on by my actions, he props himself up on one elbow, forcing our bodies closer as he increases pace. Moving together, his hips move against mine in a fevered rhythm, making my toes curl as the unmistakable heat and sweet tension begins to build at my core. 

"You're mine now, (y/n). D'you hear me?" He whispers raggedly against the curve of my shoulder, before biting it hard.

I howl in pain but it's impossible to escape the fierceness of the bite, which he repeats along my neck, then even across my breasts. The rest aren't as savage as the first, that one having pierced the skin, and each time he licks the sting away, content that he's marked me as his.

"I said....do you hear me?" 

"Yes J-Joker."

He looks into my eyes and the corners of his red lips turn up, letting me know that he's pleased with my submission.

His free hand then clasps worryingly tightly around the base of my throat, as he launches into a punishing rhythm, intent on getting me there again.  
The bed rattles with the brute force of his movements and I moan uncontrollably.  
His sexual aggression is arousing. He fucks angrily but it's so damn sexy.  
It's as though he's annoyed at himself for even wanting me, and he wants to punish me for it by fucking me senseless.

"Do you like this (y/n)? Being fucked by the joker?"

"Y-yes." I keen, frustrated that my hands aren't free to touch him. "Fuck me, Joker please. Fuck me hard!"

I see his eyes flash dangerously, but then he smirks.  
Discarding the gun, he tosses it carelessly across the room, so he can lean back and place one of my trembling legs on his shoulder. My head pushes back into the pillows, new pleasure flooding me as this new angle enables him to plunge even harder and deeper than before.

"That's it (y/n). Take it like a good little girl." He says my name like it's a curse word, in a low strangled voice.

His pulsing cock throbs inside my languid heat, and sensuous contractions ripple through every nerve ending in my body as he keeps driving himself into me again and again. 

Holy fuck. For Joker it's the sexiest thing he's ever seen. The most magnificent thing he's ever felt. The sight and feel of his hard length sliding in and out of your pussy, slick with your arousal, was making him mindless.  
Your wet channel clamps around him snugly, making him lightheaded, and his limbs buzz with excitement. He knew he was going to come very soon...and come incredibly hard, but he never wanted to stop.

"Look me in the eyes and say my name again." He husks, his thrusts growing more sloppy, frantic and desperate as he nears his climax.

"Joker." I moan unashamedly, as I wriggle beneath him.

"A--Again!" 

"Fuck, mmm...JOKER!

Arching up off the bed, I scream as the mind-numbing wave of pleasure consumes me once more. Swallowing me whole then spitting me out, leaving my limbs weak.

His fingers on my leg sink deep into my skin, leaving marks no doubt as he pounds into me two more times then stops abruptly, his muscles bulging, as he lets out a primal, animalistic sound. 

I feel the liquid heat of his release as he comes deep inside of me in hot spurts.  
Then his body collapses, sagging against me now he's satiated and spent.

"That was fucking fantastic." His voice is muffled, due to his face being buried in my hair. "Why didn't you just go out with me? We could've done this sooner."

I couldn't agree more, even though I'm already aching. My body feels extremely tender and I'm covered in 'love' bites, but I couldn't care less about any of that right now.

Instead I just listen to the soothing thrumming of his heart echoing through his chest as his pulse slows, coming down from his high.

I want to wallow in the euphoria of having just had wildly fantastic sex with my crush. To bask in the afterglow of our passionate tryst, even though I've no clue what happens next and where we go from here, if anywhere.

I mean, he could still shoot me, if the mood takes him.

But surely he wouldn't now.

Would he?...

End


	19. Love Hurts (pt.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a 3part request ~ Being the sweet lil' softie you are, you adore Arthur with all your heart and soul. But you also have a tendency to be jealous, and maybe with good reason.
> 
> Fluff, angst, and will contain some very mild, sweet smuttiness in part 3 ⚠️ 
> 
> \--1st person POV--

It's 6:58pm, and I'm standing shivering in the cold, drizzly November night, outside the entrance to my apartment building, when I'd actually prefer to be tucked up cozy and warm in the double bed that's waiting for me three floors up.

But I'm waiting. I don't want to be in bed so I can sleep, and I don't want to be in bed alone. Nope. I want to be with my sweet little Artie.   
My boyfriend, the love of my life.  
We've been an item for almost a year now, and we've been cohabiting for four months. Honestly, I can say I've never been happier in a relationship before. 

There's something about Arthur that drives me crazy. Crazy in a good way that is.  
From the first moment our eyes met I just knew instinctively that he was the one for me. He was performing in Gotham Square, spinning a sign outside a store. His colourful costume and makeup immediately captured my attention, but it was the vibrancy of his very aura that enchanted me.The way he danced jovially, displaying an uninhibited happiness. I could sense the delight he felt from making people smile. The way his beautiful eyes sparkled with joy had me mesmerised.

It hadn't exactly been love at first sight, but it certainly didn't take long for me to fall head over heels in love with the man of my dreams. 

Shy, nervous, and awkward, Arthur maybe isn't everyone's cup of tea. But he is most definitely mine.

In a city that is cruel, bleak and uncaring, Arthur is like a tiny ray of sunlight, battling the darkness on a daily basis, in the hopes of just trying to make people laugh.  
Not everyone appreciates his efforts of course. After all, this is Gotham. A corrupt, crime-riddled place, where the majority of the population live in abject poverty, struggling to make ends meet. 

Arthur is one of those poor people, but what he lacks in wealth he more than makes up for with spirit. 

He works as a party clown for minimum wage, and he's subjected to verbal and physical abuse on a regular basis as a result.   
His boss is an asshole. Traveling to and from work is like running a gauntlet. And yet, Arthur loves his job in spite of it all. Because nothing fills him with more joy than making people laugh, or bringing a smile to their face.

To Arthur that is his life's purpose. To spread joy and laughter.

For weeks we were friends, just friends, that was until I couldn't take it any more and ended up asking him out on a date. Well, if I'd have waited for him to ask then I'd probably still be waiting now.   
For some reason my romantic interest had taken him by surprise, but he'd nervously agreed.   
One date followed another, and as our relationship progressed, by mutual agreement, we moved in together. It makes good financial sense sharing an apartment. He enjoys my company, and it's wonderful being able to snuggle up close to him each night. To wake up next to him each morning. 

Life has never been better.

Well, that isn't entirely true. It could be a little better if two things were different, maybe three.

The first thing is, we've never slept together. We share a bed but we've yet to actually do the deed. To go all the way and make love.  
I don't mind so much, as I wouldn't want Arthur to take that step if he didn't feel ready. But admittedly, I do get a little frustrated at times.   
He's so damn attractive, I can barely keep my hands off him. However, when I've tried to initiate sex he shies away from my advances, so I don't push him.  
I can wait until he's ready. Even if having to be patient is driving me insane.

The other thing is, and I know it isn't his fault, but I get the distinct impression that he's not in love with me as much as I am with him.  
Don't get me wrong, he's sweet and kind and loving, but I just feel as if he's holding a part of himself back, whereas I don't.  
This whole relationship dynamic is completely new to Arthur. Having never been loved like this before, he finds the entire concept quite confusing and overwhelming.   
It's foreign to him, so it's taking him time to let his guard down. That fortress of protection he's built around himself and his heart.

Which brings me to the final thing I wish could be different.  
Now, I'm no expert in psychology, but it's like he's so afraid of letting someone get too close, he doesn't know how to handle a real relationship.   
In the past he settled on merely fantasising about it, and what it might be like.  
The focus of those fantasies was Sophie Dumond, a single mom who lives with her only daughter just down the hall from us.  
How do I know about it? I saw her name written in his journal, with a small heart drawn beside it.

And the problem is....I know Arthur still has a bit of a crush on her.  
He hasn't and won't admit to it, but he doesn't need to.   
A woman can sense these things, and I'm no idiot.  
So, whilst it kills me softly inside, I do my best to put it to the back of mind, hoping that, like with any crush, it's just a phase, and I'll wait for it to pass.

Just then a big yellow cab pulls up at the side of the road. The rain on the windows obstruct my view inside, so I squint my eyes and wander out from under the archway to try and get a better look.

The rear door swings open, and I smile to myself as the familiar tall, lean figure, climbs out.

Arthur is whippet-thin but I love his body. I love everything about him.  
He's dressed in grey pants, white dress shirt and comfy brown cardigan, complete with the tan coloured hoodie-jacket that's seen better days.  
His brown hair is wet, the long-ish curls hanging down limply, lacking their usual shiny lustre due to the unrelenting rainfall.

"(y/n), what are you doing out here?" He drawls in his soft, warm voice, upon seeing me stood in the drizzle. My previously washed (y/h/c) hair now frizzing annoyingly, despite me clutching an umbrella.

"Waiting for you." I say as I scurry forward, wanting to shelter him from the perpetual rain, and to kiss his cheek.

"But it's cold, you should be inside where it's warm."

"I'd rather wait for you." 

I kiss him twice more. Another I plant on his opposite cheek, the next squarely on his lips. I could kiss him all day and never get tired of it. He's a very talented kisser, which makes me wonder how much practice he's had in the past. He always claims to be inexperienced but his skilful lips suggest otherwise. And I don't want to think about the girls he might've practised with.

I truly hope he finds my attentiveness sweet and endearing. If he doesn't then no doubt he'll see it as constant fussing over him, which might drive him mad.   
But I can't help myself.  
I'm so in love with the man, and I want to shower him with affection because he deserves all the love in the word.

"Artie!" I cry, suddenly noticing his hampered movements. "You're...you're limping. What happened?"

"Oh, it's nothing really. I stepped off a kerb and twisted my ankle. That's why I took a cab. Sorry, I know we can't really afford it--"

"Don't worry about that." I tell him, taking his arm and wrapping it over my shoulder so I can support his weight. "My poor baby. I wish you'd be more careful."

He smiles down at me. His beautiful smile never fails to make my stomach flutter like there's an entire swarm of butterflies in there.

As we reach the step up under the archway he winces, face contorting with discomfort due to the sprain.   
Then I have an idea. A slightly crazy one maybe, but what can I say? I'm crazy about Arthur, and I can't bear to see him suffering or in pain.

"Here, Artie.." I move in front of him, handing over the umbrella, bending at the knee and reaching my arms back. "...I'll give you a piggyback."

"What? No! Don't be silly (y/n), I don't want to hurt you."

"Oh please, you won't hurt me. I'm stronger than you think and you're not exactly heavy."

"It's really not necessary. I can walk. It isn't that far."

"It's far enough when you're injured. Come on, please." I insist.

We argue back and forth for a little while, but when he realises I won't give in he reluctantly relents. I feel his hands on my shoulders, then the weight and warmth of his body as he allows me to hoist him up onto my back.

Okay, so he is surprisingly heavier than he looks, but I don't let that deter me.  
We cross the courtyard, him barely able to clutch on due to his constant laughter. I'm laughing too, struggling to move forwards as I hold onto his knees, unable to walk quickly due to my giggling rather than his weight.

I ignore his pleas to put him down until we reach the elevator. Hot and out of breath, I carefully set him back on his feet. He folds down the umbrella with a shake, and presses the button on the elevator panel until it lights up, his eyes never leaving my flushed face.

"You're crazy." He grins, his voice a little hoarser from all the laughing.

"Crazy about you, Artie." I reply, not missing the expression of incredulity that crosses his handsome face.

The elevator arrives, it's heavy steel doors sliding open with a creak, and we step inside.

"That just makes you even crazier then." Arthur chuckles, shaking his head. "But thank you. No ones ever cared for me like you do."

"Well you'd better get used to it." 

His gaze holds mine and I feel something stir deep down in the pit of my stomach, heating my insides and making my heart thud a frantic rhythm. 

"I think I could." He murmurs near my ear, drawing closer, his proximity sending my pulse rocketing.

No sooner has the door closed behind us when he leans down and kisses me deeply. This is a huge development, as ordinarily Arthur never makes the first move to kiss me first. Naturally excited, I grab hold of him and gently push him backwards, my body pressing his up against the wall. I slide my hands inside his jacket then up under his shirt. I can feel the delicious warm dampness of his skin, and his muscles react, bunching and moving beneath my touch.

Arthur couldn't think of a better, more pleasurable distraction from the throbbing pain in his left ankle. Blissfully wrapped up in kissing each other, after sharing a childlike moment of silliness, laughing together like playmates.   
Though there was no hint of playfulness evident in how he was feeling now.  
A soft gasp escaped his mouth as he lost all of his senses. A burning fire igniting low down in his belly, a fierce heat coursing through his veins.  
It was overpowering, addictive and utterly invigorating.   
It made him feel hot and wired, and alive.  
And it terrified him in the best possible way.

His hand slides to the back of my neck and into my hair, making me shiver, and I moan into his mouth. He tastes of coffee, cigarettes and spearmints, and despite needing a post-work shower he still smells good. Of my dewberry soap to be exact, which makes me smile mid-kiss.

Having become a little distracted, the elevator clunks to a halt quite unexpectedly and the door opens. 

That's when he pulls back haltingly, and looks beyond my shoulder into the hallway, suddenly all flustered

"Oh, um, h-hi Sophie." He stutters, his complexion colouring with embarrassment.

My guts clench violently, making me feel almost nauseas.

"Hey, Arthur. Hi, uh--"

"(y/n)." I grind my name out, seeing as Arthur doesn't say it.

"Right, sorry. I'm terrible with names." She rolls her eyes, a wide smile stretching across her exceptionally pretty face.

"That's okay." Arthur interjects quickly, flashing a broad smile of his own in return. "H-how are you?"

She answers but I don't hear her words. My blood is whooshing in my ears, adrenaline surging through my entire body, making me tremble in temper.  
I take a deep breath and step passed her, exiting the elevator.   
Knowing how Arthur feels about her makes my blood boil. I can practically feel my skin blistering with the heat of my envy.

I know this isn't healthy, but I can't control it. Every time we run into Sophie in the hall like this, I just want to hiss at her like an angry cat and haul my Artie away from her as quickly as possible.

My feet feel like two breeze-blocks as I make my way down the dimly-lit hall to our front door. A quick glance over my shoulder makes me prickle with irrational jealousy, watching them both engaged in quiet conversation. 

You could've had him. I think, sourly.  
He wanted you. And you wasn't interested.

As for Arthur, I wish I could physically shake some sense into him.   
Is this how it's forever going to be? Me loving him and him pining for another?  
He has me. I'm right here but it's like he doesn't see it.   
He has my love but he still wants hers.

My eyes grow filmy with unshed tears, and I fight the urge to cry. I fight it hard. Fumbling with the door key, I struggle to get it into the lock, unable to see clearly.

Just as I push the door open with excessive force, I hear the sound of his slow footsteps, reminding me that he's hurt. And just like that, my anger disperses.

"Sorry, baby." I croak, as I rush to assist him. "I forgot about your ankle."

"It's okay. You don't have to apologise (y/n)."

Is it just me, or is his smile brighter than it was before?  
I inwardly reprimand myself. I shouldn't torture myself like this. I knew Arthur had a thing for his neighbour before I began dating him.   
I guess I was just expecting him to stop wanting her once he had me. But emotions can't just be turned on and off like a faucet. Feelings don't always come in neat, easy to understand little packages.   
If they did then life would be a whole lot easier.

His arm is draped around my shoulder, gingerly leaning against me as I help him inside. 

I help him out of his wet coat, then manoeuvre him onto the couch so he can swing his legs up.

"You need an ice pack on this to help with the swelling." Carefully I untie his shoe and roll down his sock. "Do you have one?"

He shakes his head, looking unsure. "We have a bag of frozen veg in though, don't we?"

"That'll have to do."

After a quick rummage in the freezer compartment of the fridge, I return with a bag of frozen peas. I wrap it in a kitchen towel then carefully apply it to the tender area around his ankle bone.

"Does that feel better?"

"It does. Thanks (y/n). You're so kind to me."

"That's because I love you, Artie. You're so precious to me."

I look up and I'm surprised to see him looking at me all softly, a blossoming sort of tenderness in his striking jade eyes. It's a look that makes me feel breathless, and I gaze back at him, filled with anxious hope.  
I know he has strong feelings for me, and it's as if he's afraid. Afraid of his own feelings. Afraid of allowing himself to become vulnerable. Of getting hurt, being let down.  
If only I could convince him that he has absolutely nothing to fear.

"Hey, the Murray Franklin show will be on now!" I say, shattering the almost deafening silence. "I wonder who'll be on tonight."

I switch on the TV and flip through the channels until I find the talk show, the host is one of Arthur's favourite comedians. He watches this religiously, and it's rather out of character for him to have forgotten about it.

Carefully, he moves position, making room for me on the couch so I can lay next to him and watch the show.

"Comfy, love?" He enquires, as he wraps a long arm around my middle and holds me close.

My heart swells.   
I love it when he calls me 'love'. It's his only pet name for me, and whilst he's never actually said that he loves me, I find it strangely reassuring. 

"Hm. Absolutely. I love snuggling with you, Artie."

"Yeah it's really nice."

A few minutes pass as we watch the show in comfortable silence, laughing occasionally at some remark or joke Murray makes. 

And then Arthur coughs and clears his throat. "Uh, it's Sophie's birthday this Saturday. She's having a party at her place."

"Okaaay." I draw the word out, dreading what's going to come next. I have a sinking feeling but I'm desperately hoping that I'm wrong.

"Yeah...she's invited us. That's real nice of her, don't you think?"

There it is. Those three words I dreaded.   
"She's invited us."

"Yeah, I guess. Are you sure you want to go though? I mean, you've always said meeting new people makes you uncomfortable. And you don't like being around a bunch of people."

There's a contemplative pause before he answers. His next words anchoring me to the spot with the weight of my sadness.

"Yeah but, maybe it's time I started to try out new things."

Try new things!  
So he'll try new things for Sophie, but not for me.  
For her he's willing to overcome his social awkwardness and anxiety, and yet he won't even sleep with me. His girlfriend.

I can't answer him. I'm too churned-up, becoming lost in my bitter thoughts.

Don't get me wrong, nobody's relationship is all rainbows and butterflies.  
They don't come ready-made, they come in kit-form and you have to work at it together as a team.

My unshakable devotion got us to where we are today, and I will always stand by Arthur, through thick and thin.  
At the time of meeting him, I didn't ever want to love someone again, but from the first moment Arthur Fleck smiled at me, I blew it.  
But have I been struggling in vain, hoping he'd eventually want me to be a permanent part of his world? Like he is in mine?

Actually, who am I trying to kid? He is my world.

We live together for heavens sake. So perhaps that ought to be enough for me for now. After all, I chose to take every step along the way, knowing that he had unrequited feelings for Sophie.

But damn.  
I'm pretty sure if he hit me it would hurt less.


	20. Love Hurts (pt.2)

No matter how much I'm dreading it, no matter how much I wish Arthur would change his mind, Saturday inevitably rolls around and there's not a damn thing I can do to stop it.

He hasn't changed his mind, and there's nothing I can do other than prepare myself for the miserable evening I'm in store for. Having to be in the company of Sophie, and watching Arthur silently, but not so subtlety, admire her from a not-so-distant distance. 

I'm already dressed; having chosen my simple yet slinky black dress, which accentuates all my best features whilst conveniently hiding the ones I'm not so crazy about.   
Arthur's never seen me in it before, so I'm hoping he'll appreciate it.   
Not that I'm competing with Sophie or anything, but if my boyfriend is going to spend the entirety of the evening gawking at her, then at least I won't be made to feel inferior by being too underdressed.

Arthur's gone into the bathroom to shave, and I'm sitting anxiously on the couch. The television is on but the sound is down as I'm not even watching the show that's on. I can't concentrate. My mind is too preoccupied with unwanted thoughts. Thoughts about Arthur and Sophie.  
I keep picturing her giving him sultry glances from across the room. Him flashing a seductive smile, and her falling for him the way I did.

I hear the sound of the shower running, followed by the sound of Arthur singing in the bathroom. His voice is a deep, low hum, and then animatedly higher-pitched and almost operatic.  
I grin to myself, and try to work out what it is he's singing, but I can only catch sporadic bits. 

He's in such a good mood tonight.

A hard rush of emotion fills me with warmth, but it's tempered with confusion and doubt. Since the very beginning all I ever really wanted was for Arthur to let me adore him, and he has. He deserves the world, and I'd happily give it to him if I could. Instead I have given him all of me. My adoration, my devotion, my love. 

But there's this niggling uneasiness inside that refuses to be quelled. That godawful feeling that what he'd actually want more than anything in the world, is Sophie.   
Is he just settling for me? Am I second best? Because no matter how much I love him, surely I deserve to be his first choice. In which case maybe I'm the one settling for second best.

The nagging doubts are temporarily forgotten when a moment later I hear the sound of a loud thud, followed by a muffled string of curses.

"Artie, baby? Are you okay?" I frown and look toward the wall.

"Yeah." He calls back. "It's just me being a klutz."

"You're not a klutz." I don't even bother to muffle my laugh as I get up and head bathroomwards. "What did you do?"

"Um, I knocked a couple things off the shelf. Nothing to worry about, love."

"Arthur. You weren't dancing in the shower again, were you?"

The smudged outline of his body is moving behind the shower curtain, picking up the various bottles of shampoo and body wash that he's knocked over while swinging his arms around.

Arthur has music in him and dances a lot. If it's playing on the radio or TV, no matter the tempo or style, it's as if he can't fight the impulse to move his body.   
I find it completely adorable of course. It never fails to make me smile.  
When he's feeling particularly happy he'll dance without music. Almost like he hears it in his head, and expresses his emotions through physical movements.

But my heart twinges a little. I can't help wondering if the reason for his euphoria tonight is because he's going to be in Sophie's company. 

The creak of the door alerts him to my presence as I enter the room. "Arthur, I wish you wouldn't dance in the shower, baby. You could slip and hurt yourself."

"I know. I'll stop. It's just that--" Poking his wet head around the shower curtain, he stops mid-sentence, his green eyes rounding like two saucers. "(y/n), you look...amazi-- no, beaut-- no, stunning. You look stunning."

I giggle at the way he stumbles over his words, tripping on the compliment he's trying to pay me. "Aw, thank you."

He stares at me a few moments longer before disappearing from view, and says with a laugh, "I um, I guess I'd better hurry or we'll be really late."

"There's no rush. It's just a house party. I don't think it matters what time we get there."

A few minutes later Arthur turns the shower off, and I stand with my arms outstretched, holding a towel for him. He emerges from behind the curtain, and I wrap the towel around him as he steps out of the bath.

"Thank you, (y/n). What would I do without you?"

I try to think of some playful retort, but my mind goes completely blank. His comment having blindsided me a little. "Um, I don't know. You tell me." I smile, reaching for a smaller towel so I can dry his hair.

"Honestly, I don't even want to think about it. I can't imagine my life without you in it now. You're so..." His words trail off, leaving his sentence unfinished.

Placing the towel over his head, I give it a gentle yet vigorous rub. "I'm so, what?" I urge, as I move the towel back so I can see his face, secretly relishing every second of being in such close contact with his semi-naked body.

"So loving." He swallows thickly, looking down at me through his dark, wet lashes. "And...beautiful."

As I dry the lengths of his hair I find myself incredibly close to him, deliberately not moving away. The tiny droplets of water on his clean skin glisten in the harsh glow of the bathroom lightbulb. He smells delectable, and the rapid rise and fall of his chest betrays his suddenly hampered breathing.

"You think I'm beautiful?" I beam, unable to look away from his penetrating gaze. "Aw, Artie. You never said."

"I didn't? Shit. Well, I-I should have. Sorry (y/n). I kinda thought you knew already."

"No. And even if I did, it doesn't do any harm to be told. A girl likes to feel...wanted."

We stand like that, staring into each other's eyes. The atmosphere heavily charged, the only sound, our heartbeats and breathing.

"Oh, you're definitely wanted." He murmurs close to my ear, causing goosebumps to rise on my bare arms.

He certainly isn't lying. As I embrace him tightly, I feel the tell-tale sign of his sudden arousal pressing into my belly through the soft material of the towel. It surprises me, but I certainly don't dislike it. Knowing that I have this effect on his body makes me feel hot and tingly all over.

"I want you too, baby." I purr, kissing along his jawline, enjoying the way his eyes slide shut and his mouth parts slightly as he draws in a deep, shaky breath. 

However, once he realises that I feel him, all of him, he breaks from the embrace. Seemingly crippled with embarrassment. His face turns dusky, and I feel compelled to tell him that his body's response is nothing to be ashamed of or embarrassed by.

"Artie, please. You don't have to be embarrassed. It's...it's only natural you know." I assure him, placing a soft kiss on his burning cheek.

"Um, y-yeah." He mumbles. "I know."

Taking the damp towel from my hands, he throws it over his head and begins rubbing at his hair with such excessive force I worry he's in danger of dislocating a shoulder.  
I also have a sneaking suspicion he deliberately wants to hide his face.

I'm so frustrated I want to scream. I momentarily fantasise about ripping the towel from around his waist, taking him in my hand and pleasuring him until his knees grow weak, and he's begging to take me right here and now.

But obviously I don't.

Once he's eventually ready; looking devastatingly handsome in his smart wine coloured suit, his unruly curls gelled back from his face, we leave the apartment.   
The dull thumping beat of music filters down the hall, reverberating around the walls as we make our way to Sophie's door. 

"Oh hey guys! Glad you could make it." Sophie's winning smile greets us, and I watch Arthur's response from the side of my eyes.

Without being biased, the brightness of his smile seems to light up the dingy hallway.   
He has such a beautiful smile. It's warm, friendly, genuine, and it shows in his eyes.

"Hey Sophie. Happy birthday."

I smile but don't speak. Fearful of swallowing my own venom.  
I wish my jealousy didn't effect me like this. I'm not naturally a rude person. But knowing how Arthur feels about her just really sticks in my craw, even though it isn't her fault.

Inside, the small apartment is full of people. Mostly quite rowdy due to already being drunk, or possibly high on drugs, or both.  
My poor Arthur. I'm pretty sure this would be his definition of hell.

I hand over the bottle of wine we've brought along, and she takes it, thanking me.  
It's then that Arthur turns to me with innocent eyes and says, "Oh, I forgot the present!"

I frown a little, confused. "Present? I...I thought the wine was the present?"

He nervously darts a look at Sophie and then back to me, still smiling as though nothing is wrong. "N-no. I picked her up a little something a while ago. Just hang on, I'll go fetch it."

Laughing, Sophie shakes her head as he scurries off. "N'aw. That's so sweet. You guys really didn't need to get me anything."

Somehow I manage to force a strained smile which I don't doubt looks more like a grimace. I want to say 'we' didn't get her anything. Arthur has. And more to the point, without me even knowing.

Just then a tall, muscular guy with designer stubble and jet black hair sidles over to us, though he's quite obviously smiling directly at me.

"Hey, Soph. Aren't you gonna introduce me?"

Sophie takes a large sip of her drink and rolls her eyes. "Yeah yeah. Zack this is (y/n). She lives with my neighbour, Arthur. So don't go hitting on her and making things awkward."

Zack laughs boisterously, brushing her remark aside. "Ignore her (y/n), she's just jealous cause we used to date back in high school."

Sophie mock-thumps him in the arm, giggling. "Jealous? In your dreams, jerk!"

"Then why else would you say such a thing? You're going to give your beautiful neighbour here the wrong impression about me."

"See, this is exactly what I'm talking about. You're such a sleaze, Zack. I just told you she has a boyfriend." Turning to me she smiles apologetically. "Don't let him charm you (y/n). Having a boyfriend isn't enough to put him off. I'm sure the douchebag finds the challenge a turn-on."

Just then Arthur returns, a small gift bag clutched in his large hand. He hands it to Sophie, grinning moronically.

My guts twist and turn until they become a full-on knot. Making me feel a bit sick.   
I'm still in shock. I can't believe he bought her a gift. We hadn't even discussed it for fucks sake.

I watch with growing animosity as she removes a black box from the bag, and carefully cracks it open. Her smile broadens even further, flashing all of her perfectly straight, white teeth.

"Oh wow! Arthur, this is lovely. How thoughtful.Thanks!"

She gives him a peck on the cheek. Even in the subdued light I see his face turn pink, and I'm sorely tempted to smack her across the mouth.

The knot in my stomach tightens until it borders on being physically painful.   
The gift is a bracelet-watch. Dainty and pretty and...no doubt very expensive.

Zoom, goes my temper. Zoom and whoosh.  
It takes every last ounce of self restraint in me not to fly into a hysterical rage.  
My boyfriend bought her jewellery. Jewellery! She's a fucking neighbour for crying out loud! My hands ball into fists by my sides. I feel like an utter idiot, as all I can do is stand there as she slips it onto her wrist, holding it up to admire it, while Arthur gushes beside her.

"I need a drink." I mutter incoherently to nobody in particular, and move leadenly towards the kitchen, pushing through the people dancing in the middle of the room.

Tears obscure my vision as I take a clean glass tumbler from the counter, and grab the nearest bottle of liquor to hand. I fill my glass and take a generous gulp, the clear fluid burning the back of my throat.

Under normal circumstances I would never just walk away and abandon Arthur like that. Especially given his social anxiety.  
But these aren't normal circumstances.  
He's seemingly willing to overcome his social awkwardness just so he can be here, so I'm sure he can handle being left for a minute. Besides, he has his Sophie with him.

And I'm hurting so much I feel almost numb with shock.  
I feel betrayed. Like he's stabbed me in the back and made me look like a fool.   
I never thought Arthur would be so devious. So underhanded. To buy an expensive gift for the woman he has a thing for, without even discussing it with me first, hurts more than anything I've ever experienced before.

"Hey, go easy on the drink." A smooth voice suddenly says from behind me, making me whirl around.

Ah, it's what's his name again. 

"Trust me, I need it." I tell him, taking another glug, my face contorting due to the unpleasant taste.

Zack laughs. "Rough day, huh?"

"It wasn't. Up until about two minutes ago." I say without thinking.

He raises his brows in amused interest. "Oh really. Wanna talk about it?"

I shake my head, raising the glass. "No not really. Actually I'd rather try and forget about it. So I'm hoping this will help with that."

"I'm sure it will if you keep drinking it like that." He grins. Brown eyes survey me closely, sweeping over my body in quick assessment. "You know, I'm pretty good at helping people forget their problems too."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Perhaps I could help you, gorgeous."

Without meaning to I burst out laughing, which makes him laugh too. Maybe the alcohol is already taking affect, as in actual fact the last thing I feel like doing right now is laughing. What I actually feel like doing is crying.

Suddenly I feel a large hand on my shoulder.  
Arthur.  
I'd recognise his touch anywhere.

"There you are." He says in his soft voice, smiling at me gently. "I was wondering where you'd got to."

"Well, now you know. I'm right here."

His brow creases a little, as he looks at Zack, then back to me. "Shall we go and sit down?" His question comes across as more of a statement, as he takes me by the hand decisively.

Without replying I comply, allowing Arthur to lead me back into the living room. 

"Hey, (y/n)...if you change your mind, be sure to let me know." Zack calls after me.

I smile and give a barely perceptible nod.

"What was that about?" Arthur asks, once we find a vacant armchair that's tucked into the corner of the room.

"Oh, nothing." I reply, vaguely. Swirling the drink around in my glass, I deliberately make a point of avoiding his eyes.

"Nothing? Well, surely it has to be something. Otherwise why would he say it?"

Sucking my teeth, I try to calm my rising anger before responding. "It's nothing, Arthur. Honestly. It isn't even worth talking about. But d'you know what is worth talking about?" You, buying Sophie jewellery. Now why didn't you talk to me about that?"

He blinks at me, looking all confused. "Oh, I didn't think you'd mind. Did I...did I do something wrong?"

"Do something wrong?" My voice raises slightly, but fortunately due to the deafening beat of the music it doesn't draw any unwanted attention to us. "You bought a neighbour, because that's all Sophie is, a watch-bracelet, and you didn't think I'd mind! Jesus, Arthur! How much did that fucking thing cost?"

I'm sitting in the armchair and he's perched on the arm beside me, still smiling but there's an anxiousness visible in the way his lips quiver with uncertainty.

"It wasn't expensive at all. I bought it from Randall--"

"Randall? Oh, so that means it's probably stolen then. Or some cheap tat. But that's beside the point. Didn't you stop to think about how it would make me feel? You buying her a gift like that?"

"I don't understand." His dark brows beetle together in a perplexed frown. "Why are you so upset?" 

His expression bears a striking resemblance to a lost, little puppy, and it's incredibly hard to stay mad at him.

He doesn't even realise why doing such a thing has upset me.

"Just...forget it, Arthur."

"How can I forget it, (y/n)? If I've upset you then...shouldn't we talk it over?"

I sigh heavily. "Yes but, not here. Now isn't really the time or place to have a conversation like that."

Standing, Arthur motions to the door. "We could go outside? Or...do you want to leave?"

The offer is tempting. Extremely tempting.  
Yet even now I'm still considering Arthur's happiness. Taking his feelings into account, even though he's unable to extend the same courtesy to me.  
I know he's been looking forward to this party. His singing in the bathroom, the dancing in the shower, is testament to that.  
In spite of him having unwittingly hurt me deeply, I don't want to ruin the night for him. It isn't often he has the opportunity to get out and socialise, and he wants to try new things he said. So I should at least try and be supportive.

"We'll talk about it later." I catch him by the hand and tug him back down so that he's sitting again. "Don't worry about it. Just...try to enjoy the party, okay?"

"Alright. As long as you're okay." He mumbles, still looking unconvinced.

And I can't say that I blame him.  
Because even Arthur, with his impaired ability to perceive emotions in others, can sense that I'm most definitely not okay.


	21. Love Hurts (pt.3)

Unfortunately, my mood doesn't improve over the course of the evening. 

A few people have left, heading for a club downtown, failing in their attempts to persuade Sophie to join them.  
I wish they had. Then we could go home. There's no way Arthur would go to a nightclub, he's barely coped with the volume of people here in the apartment.

He had an anxiety attack, which set off his compulsive laughter, brought on by strangers attempting to make conversation with him.  
Arthur's so socially awkward, he struggles when he feels pressured or confronted.  
Fortunately everyone is pretty drunk, so his laughter didn't seem so completely out of place. Subtlety I'd placed a hand on his back and rubbed it reassuringly. Leaning in to whisper words of reassurance. It had gradually subsided, and to his relief nobody was staring at him, which made him feel better.

There's more room in the apartment now that they've left, and we're able to sit down together on the couch. Arthur isn't really one for public displays of affection, so he takes me by surprise when he casually slips an arm around me, so that I'm nestled against the sturdy embrace of his lean body.

However, call me paranoid but I can't shake the feeling that he's watching Sophie as she buzzes around the room like a queen bee, all the men drawn to her like they are her subservient drones. 

I stare daggers at the oblivious, and innocent woman in her low slung, embroidered combat trousers, which are undeniably feminine and accentuate her enviably flat stomach. A slinky little vest top shows off her pert chest and toned upper arms.

Without intending to, I find myself wondering if Arthur would be willing to sleep with her. He obviously wants her, so he must find her physically attractive.  
I feel bile rise in my throat and quickly push those destructive thoughts aside.  
I can't keep torturing myself like this.  
Arthur just isn't ready to engage sexually yet. It doesn't necessarily mean he doesn't want me, or find me attractive.

Just then a familiar figure comes lumbering over towards us.

"Hey (y/n), how about a dance?"

My eyes widen as I stare at Zack, who's noticeably unsteady on his feet. 

"Oh, no I don't think so--"

"Aw come on, have some fun! You sure look like you could use some." He persists, offering me his hand. "You need cheering up, right? You've had a shitty day."

"Do I?" I giggle nervously, my eyes darting back to Arthur who's looking understandably confused.

"You've had a bad day?" He asks, voice filled with concern. "And you talked to him about it, not me?"

"I-I haven't. Really I'm just..." My cheeks burn with embarrassment as I falter, not knowing what to say. "Do you want to dance, Artie?" I smile anxiously, hoping to steer the conversation away from an awkward and potentially hazardous direction. "You said you wanted to try new things."

Arthur loves dancing more than most people, but dancing in this sort of environment is completely foreign to him, and I doubt he'll be enticed.  
Unless it was Sophie asking. Then maybe he'd be willing to make an exception.

To my dismay he shakes his head, then smiles tightly. It isn't convincing, and doesn't match up with what he's saying.

"No, but....you should dance if you want to, (y/n). I don't mind."

"What?"

"It'll be more fun than just sitting here, right?"

I'm about to tell him that I don't want to dance with Zack. If I'm going to dance then I want it to be with him. My head feels overloaded with conflicting thoughts. Is Arthur encouraging me because he wants me to have fun? Or does he really not care that I'll be dancing with some other guy? If that's the case then, perhaps he doesn't care that much about me at all.

"There you go, see? He doesn't mind." Zack interjects, as he reaches down and takes my hand.

Reluctantly I allow him to pull me to my feet, but no sooner have I stood when Sophie appears, and takes my seat.

This is a nightmare. 

It's like all my worst dreams all come true at once.  
Arthur isn't even remotely jealous over a good looking stranger wanting me to dance, and now Sophie is sitting next to him and I want to scream.

"That guy's a nut!" I hear Zack say, as he playfully spins me around to the upbeat song that's blasting from the stereo speakers. "If you were my girlfriend, I wouldn't let any other guy dance with you."

I smile weakly, feeling more and more dejected.  
How am I supposed to dance when my feet feel like lead, and I feel sick to my stomach? I try to resist but I can't refrain from glancing over to the couch, where I see Arthur and Sophie, their heads inclined towards each other.  
She laughs, like they've just shared some private joke. But Arthur isn't laughing. Instead he just stares at her, obviously transfixed by her beauty.

Suddenly I feel something snap inside me, like I've reached breaking point and can't take any more. My initial instinct is to make a scene. To march over there and give Arthur a piece of mind.  
But I don't. I can't bring myself to humiliate him like that in front of all these people, so instead I try to focus on the music, on the way Zack grins at me wickedly, and somehow I manage to channel all of my anger and transform it into a sort of wired energy, and begin to dance.

Arthur was a quiet man by nature, but just because he wasn't one for talking and often missed social cues, didn't mean that he was completely oblivious to whatever transpired around him. 

He was silently watching (y/n), admiring the sway of her body and the way in which her dress clung to her every curve. He felt an uncomfortable stirring at the mesmerising sight of her dancing. Dancing in a way he'd never seen her dance before.  
But in equal measures, as well as finding her provocative moves arousing, he was simultaneously irritated by the the way in which that man was taking advantage of the situation. 

I'm moving to the beat, laughing nervously at the way Zack gyrates his hips uncomfortably close to mine. Ordinarily I would walk away, not wanting to engage in this form of flirtation. But I'm angry at Arthur, and stupidly find Zack's attentions flattering. It makes me feel desirable at least, and wanted.  
Just because Arthur is enthralled by Sophie doesn't mean that other men don't find me attractive.

"That's better. It's good to see you smiling." Zack beams, suddenly snaking an arm around my waist, pulling me to him. "How about we go some place quiet and have some real fun, hm?"

I swallow hard, his words chilling me a little. "Um, no thank you. I'm fine just here. And like I said, I have a boyfriend."

"Oh yeah, the boyfriend that's..." He turns to look toward the couch and his words seem to back up in his throat.

I follow his gaze to see Arthur walking towards us, his expression troubled.  
Taking a step back from Zack I open my mouth to speak, but Arthur cuts me off before I have chance.

"We're leaving." 

Without saying another word he takes my hand and leads me to the door, taking long, purposeful strides. I struggle to keep up with him, but he doesn't slow his pace, just tugs me along behind him.

"Wait a minute, Arthur! What's got into you?"

He whirls me around so he can slam Sophie's door shut, and his eyes glisten with anger.

"What's got into me?" He exclaims, roughly. "What's gotten into you?"

"Me? I was just dancing! You said you didn't mind."

"Yeah well...m-maybe I did mind. I just didn't want you missing out on all the fun."

"I was more than happy to just sit with you, Arthur."

"Sophie told me about that guy, what's his name...Zack."

"What about him?"

"Well he clearly had designs on you."

Without meaning to, I have to bite back a smile, but fail miserably.  
I can't believe that Arthur is actually jealous. I would never have dreamed he'd get so rattled over me dancing with another man.

"Do you think it's funny?" He snarls, scowling at me crossly.

"I think it's ironic." I hurl back at him, defensively. And just like that, months of repressed anger and resentment comes spilling out, like a river that has burst its banks. "You dare to lecture me about dancing with some other man, when you follow Sophie around like a lovesick puppy!"

"What are you talking about, (y/n)? That's ridiculous."

I frown, as he grips my hand again, pulling me down the dingy hallway. The overhead lights flicker due to the faulty wiring in the old, decrepit building, accentuating the hard set of his jaw and stern contours of his angular face.  
I've never seen him look so angry before. Almost menacing even. It's startling and worrying.

"I don't follow her around." He argues.

"You do, with your eyes at least. Maybe we could swap, would you like that? Sophie used to date Zack. You could go be with her, and I could have him!"

He freezes just as he's opening our front door, glaring down at me as if I've just mortally wounded him.

"W-why would you say that? Do you want him?" His voice breaks slightly, betraying his struggle to keep his emotions tamped down. 

But I want him to let go. To show me more of himself. The side of him that he keeps locked away.

Pushing passed him, I stomp into the living room, kicking off my shoes.

"Of course I don't want him. But for gods sake, just be honest with me, Arthur! You're in love with Sophie. You always have been. And d'you know...I thought I could live with it, because I love you so fucking much. But..but tonight you made me feel so insignificant." I push the heels of my palms against my eyes and roughly brush the tears away. "I can't live like this. It...it hurts too much."

"No, (y/n). Please...please don't cry!" 

Before I can move, Arthur is suddenly taking me by the shoulders, his wide eyes shimmering with unshed tears of his own.

"I've been an idiot. I did have feelings for Sophie at first. W-when I first met her I was alone, and confused, I..I became obsessed over the idea of being with someone. Of not having to be alone..it was...a silly infatuation, that's all."

"You bought her jewellery!"

"It's just a watch. She told me hers had been stolen, and I didn't want her to keep running late when she goes to pick up GiGi from school." He sighs heavily. "I know what it's like always being the last kid waiting in the school yard. It was more for GiGi's sake than anything else."

My heart pinches. Okay, so perhaps I've misjudged him badly.  
Or have I? I just don't know how to be sure.

"Even so, you still wanted to go to her party tonight, even though you hate being around strangers like that."

"For you, love. I was just...trying to overcome my anxiety, to be a better man, for you."

I shake my head, tears falling relentlessly, and Arthur's hold on my arms tightens, as he looks at me panic stricken. "I don't know what to think anymore. All I know is I can't be second best for you, Arthur. I'm sorry--"

"No, don't say that, you're not second best! (y/n)...please don't do this. Don't leave me."

My heart is breaking, and I'm fighting the overwhelming urge to just pull him into my arms and comfort him. He's distraught. But I can't help thinking that he's more afraid of just being alone than actually losing me.

"Arthur please.." I sob, choking on my salty tears. "You need to let me go."

"No! I can't. I won't--"

"You have to! You're infatuated with somebody else....and it's killing me."

His large hands cup my face gently, and he peers deep into my eyes. Those mournful, childlike eyes of his hold a haunting look of silent pleading, and they're destroying me.  
I can't bear to see the sorrow, the suffering, the desperation that tugs on my heartstrings. I try to turn my face away but he won't let me, and as he opens his mouth to speak, I notice the perceptible quiver of his bottom lip.

"I'm so sorry. (y/n) I'm sorry. I never ever want to hurt you. I...I love you."

My mouth suddenly seems so dry, my voice comes out as little more than a brittle croak. "What? A-are you just saying this, Arthur? Because you want me to stay?"

"No no!" He lets me go and goes stumbling towards the bedroom, tripping over his own feet in his haste. "Wait right there! Don't go anywhere. I'll prove it to you, just wait!"

Rubbing furiously at my temples, I will my headache away. Having come on suddenly due to all the stress and upset. I've no idea what Arthur is doing, but I've never seen him so animated before, and that's saying something considering he works as a party clown for a living.

I can hear him rifling through his bedside drawers. Curious, I make my way towards the bedroom, halting in the doorway. He's ransacked the nightstand. His clothing and other items litter the floor, but I'm not at all interested in that. What I am interested in is the little black velvet box that he's holding in his trembling hand.

"Arthur, what--?"

"I've had this a while." He cuts in, opening the box as he makes his way over to me slowly. "I've been wanting to give it you, but it never seemed like the right time. I-I wanted it to be special."

I gasp, feeling all the air leave my lungs.

It's a ring. A beautiful, sparkling solitaire diamond ring.

My head is spinning, and for a moment I feel like my knees might buckle on me.  
This seems too good to be true. Surely it can't be happening.  
Has Arthur actually bought me an engagement ring?

"I know you might not want it now." He says, shakily. "I got it from Randall, so you probably won't, seeing as it might be stolen or...cheap tat." He looks at me hopeful, as he does the unthinkable, and drops down on one knee. "But if you do want to, then I'll get you another one from someplace else. A better one--"

"Arthur, shut up a second." I wheeze, as I stare down at him, at the ring he's proffering me. "What do you mean...if I do want to? A-are you actually proposing to me?"

His face reddens, his Addams apple visibly bobbing in his throat. 

"Y-yeah." He exhales, hastily wiping a stray tear from his face. "I mean, I love you (y/n), and I want us to be together forever, if you'll have me. Whatever I felt for Sophie wasn't real...what we have is. So..will you? Will you marry me?"

There are no words to describe how overcome with emotion I am. My heart seems to burst with unrivalled happiness. Filling me with joy, and hope, and love. Love for this dear, sweet man.

"Oh my god! Of course I will, Arthur!" I wail.

Then everything seems to happen all at once, as I become lost in a swaying haze of utter euphoria. Arthur sweeps me up off my feet and swirls me around, laughing and crying joyously. There's no mistaking his love for me now. His feelings have never been so clear. Then in the next instant he's sliding the delicate ring onto my finger, his smile as broad as my own.

"I thought I'd lost you." He says, softly, pulling me into his warm embrace. "You've no idea how happy you've made me (y/n)."

"You've no idea how happy you've made me, Artie." I cling to him tightly, never wanting to let go. "I love you more than you'll ever know."

"I..I'll get you another ring, I promise."

"No you won't!" I say sharply, but not unkindly. "You chose this and it's perfect."

His smile fades slightly as he leans down, and presses his lips to mine.  
I kiss him back eagerly, running my hands through his mop of brown curls.  
Arthur deepens the kiss, turning me soft as butter in his arms. I feel myself liquefy in the masculine heat that's radiating from him, as his curious hands explore the outline of my body, gripping my hips and pulling me closer still somehow.

"D'you want to celebrate our engagement, baby?" I murmur suggestively, as he trails hot kisses down my neck.

"Fuck, yes." He mumbles against my throat, the firm tone of his exclamation taking me even further by surprise. "You look amazing in this dress. It's been driving me crazy all night, wanting to touch you."

And then he scoops me up in his arms, bridal style, and carries me to the bed.  
My heart hammers in my chest as he comes down on top of me. We tug at each other's clothes with barely contained excitement. Arthur's unveiled sexual desire is electrifying, as he removes my dress as if he's frustrated by the entire convention of wearing clothing.

"A-Arthur..." I gasp, feeling the warmth of his breath cascading over my bare skin, as he continues his sensual exploration of my body. "Are you sure you're ready for this--?"

I'm silenced by his soft, insistent lips. Any reservations I have crumble, forgotten, as he grips my thighs tightly and pushes himself between them.

I'm breathless. Speechless. Excited, and deliriously happy.

He explores my mouth tentatively with his tongue, making me moan as I swallow his hot, racing breath.

His lips part from mine, allowing me a moment to take in some much-needed air.

"Oh, (y/n). I've waited so long for this...to make you mine." He rasps, hooking his thumbs into the waistband of my panties, sliding them down.

I shiver beneath him, caressing his bare back, the anticipation defeating in it's intensity. 

"I am yours, baby. Oh god! Arthur--!"

I close my eyes. Feeling, breathing, sensing only Arthur, as he takes me, finally making me his, consummating our union by making sweet, passionate love to me.  
I can't get enough of him. I want the ache. The burning desire to have him in me, his weight on top of me. To have his sweat-slicked body moving against my own. To watch his face as he experiences the new sensations.  
I lose myself in him. His warm slide in and out doesn't feel like an intrusion, but like something that was already part of me.

And just like (y/n), Arthur finally felt complete. As if at last he had found the missing piece of himself. He relished the feel of her body, writhing and trembling beneath him. He kissed her, moaning softly as his hips surged constantly forwards, driven by pure instinct as he became a slave to love.

She felt incredible. She was incredible.  
And most importantly, she was his.

The End


	22. Daddy's Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short imagine ~ Your bf works as one of Joker's goons, and one night the man himself pays you a surprise visit while you're alone.
> 
> Warning ⚠️ NSFW
> 
> \-- 1st person POV --

Padding barefooted from the bathroom I collapse onto the couch and idly flip through the TV channels, searching for something to watch that isn't completely mind-numbing.

It's passed 2:00am and my sad excuse for a boyfriend is late again.

Well, what else should I expect from a criminal? I always knew that dating a wannabe-gangster had its pros and cons.  
Though these days it's mostly been cons.

He's one of the many clown-goons that works for the notorious 'Clown Prince of Crime', the infamous Joker who pretty much runs Gotham's underworld ever since he shot Murray Franklin live on TV and started an uprising in the city.

Those had been scary times, but Joker himself was surprisingly easygoing.  
Yeah, I've met the big guy himself on two separate occasions.  
The fist time was at a club after they'd pulled-off a bank heist and the second time he actually came here, I've no idea why, and there was something deeply unsettling about the whole experience.

He prowled around the place like a big predatory cat, taking everything in as if he was a prospective client viewing a house for sale and eyeing me up like I came with it as part of the deal. 

As much as I don't like it though, there is something undeniably sexy about the guy. I don't want to admit it, but he's attractive as well as intimidating, and I'll never forget the last thing he said to me...

"What's a nice girl like you doing wasting her time on a loser like that? You deserve better, kitty cat."

Taken aback, I'd fought to steady my breathing as he whispered those words close to my ear.

"A-and what do you mean by that?" I managed to croak. "What would you consider better?"

"Hm. That's an interesting question. One of these days....I might just have to show you."

Ugh. Even just thinking about it now makes my pulse speed up against my wishes.  
I shouldn't be lusting after Joker, I'm already in a relationship, for what it's worth.  
Which isn't a lot to be honest.

I never see much of the money my guy makes, as he spends it all on alcohol, drugs and lap dancers. But I've reached the point where I actually don't care that much anymore.  
Hell, I'm only still with his sorry-ass because I can't face all the drama of a break-up. He can be a violent asshole at times, and even though I stand my ground I often wonder if he'd be capable of killing me when he's in one of his drunken rages.

Just then I hear the sound of the front door opening, and roll my eyes. Wondering what mood he'll be in. Will he be sober or not? What cheap perfume will he reek of.

Not bothering to get up, I wait for him to come staggering through the door.  
But he doesn't.  
Instead a voice calls out, a low, honeyed voice that fills my ears, and the owner might as well be running his fingers down my spine.

"Hey honey, daddy's home!"

Oh. My. God.

Jumping to my feet I tug awkwardly at the baggy tee that I'm wearing.   
Shit, if I knew that 'he' would be stopping by again then I would've made more of an effort. I certainly wouldn't be flashing so much leg.

The living room door swings open and there he stands. Flamboyant suit lovingly clinging to his skinny-frame, making him look ludicrously sexy.

"I...I didn't realise you'd be coming." My eyes drift beyond him to the hallway, awaiting the arrival of my stupid other-half.

As if guessing what I'm waiting for, Joker steps inside and closes the door behind him. "Relax. It's just you and me (y/n). He won't be bothering us. In fact he won't be bothering you ever again."

I swallow hard as his words sink-in.   
Holy shit. Does this mean he's...killed him?

"What have you done to him?"

Joker gives a shrill, mirthless laugh. "Ahahaha, I got rid of him. He was in the way and honestly...I didn't like the way he talked about you."

"W-why would that bother you?" I literally feel my jaw slackening, as he confesses his feelings to me.

"It bothered me because you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen and I've wanted you since the minute I met you."

"What? You can't possibly--"

"Sure I can. I do." He says calmly, walking towards me now. "And I was tired of pretending that I don't."

"But why me?"

"Why you? Seriously (y/n) do you not see yourself? You're stunning and smart and perfect.....And I know you want me too."

"Now just hang on a second!"

"Aw, come on kitty cat. I can tell by the way you look at me." 

He crowds me back, domineering me with his height as he places his hands flat against the wall either side of me, trapping me.

I'm like a mouse cornered by a snake, but unlike the mouse....I think I want to be caught.

"You gonna show daddy some love?" He grins crookedly, bringing a hand up to my face.

Languid heat gathers low in my belly and I try not to give in too willingly. I should at least put up some kind of fight. After all this has come as a bit of a shock.  
It ain't every day Gotham's most wanted man admits to lusting after you.

"Listen, you can't just come in here like you own the place! As if you own me and--mmm."

My words dissolve as suddenly his painted lips are on mine, his velvety tongue exploring my mouth, delving deeper, teasing, tasting, tempting, taking.  
I let out a small, helpless whimper and feel him smile against my lips.

"This is almost exactly how I imagined it, but better." He rasps against my throat as he trails hot kisses down my neck.

"Y-you imagined kissing me?"

He nods. "I've imagined all kinds of stuff that I want to do to you."

Unable to fight it anymore, I fist my hands into the lapels on his jacket, pulling him flush to me and he responds immediately by pushing me up almost aggressively against the wall. 

"Do you have any idea what you do to me (y/n)? Can you feel what you do to me? Hm?"

I can barely think straight due to the lustful haze that's fogging up my mind but I can definitely feel him, hard and needy as he presses his erection into the centre of my body.

"This is crazy..." I gasp. "...I don't even know you properly."

"That's okay, kitten. There's plenty of time for that. And we don't have to go all the way. Just let me touch you. Please? I need to touch you."

I'm considering whether or not I should refuse, when all at once I find myself in his hands. His long fingers have slipped beneath the hem of my shirt and they're caressing my flesh with erotic enthusiasm. The rough pads of his thumbs rub over the sensitive nub of my nipples, and I almost swoon.

Oh God he feels amazing. He tastes amazing. Sweet, sinful and decadent....like rich, dark chocolate. 

"Do I turn you on, kitten?" He asks suddenly, then deliberately pushes his knee up between my thighs, lifting it until he feels the heat of my sex through his pants. "Can I make you want me as bad as I want you?"

"I...I..." I can't even answer. All brain power is lost.

His breath becomes uneven, all hot and racing in my mouth as he swallows my whimpers, relishing the pleasurable sounds he's drawing from my lips.  
Surrendering myself to pure physical sensation, I tremble against his body as our kisses grow hungrier and more frantic, and now I'm aching for him with a burning, desperate need.

"I do want you." I confess shakily.

I'm still recovering from the shock of having him touching me so intimately, when he pushes up my shirt, lowers his head, and envelops as much of my breast into his warm mouth as he can.

Holy shit.

I can scarcely breath, I think I've forgotten how to. All I can do is feel, as his painted lips devour my flesh, suckling, licking and even nipping gently at my nipple, which has stiffened beneath his tongue.

Once he's satisfied, he turns his attention to my other breast and repeats his actions, not stopping until my skin gleams with his saliva and my breasts swell with arousal. Small bruises already forming where he's marked me as his.

By the time he's done, my entire body is shaking and I'm more than happy to be his. He can have anything he wants from me. He can have it all.

"Are you wet for me?" He purrs, and I instinctively clamp my trembling thighs together. "No need to be shy, baby. I'll be gentle I promise."

Unperturbed, he runs a large palm up and along my bare leg, tracing circles on my inner thigh which makes me jitter due to the sensitivity of his touch.

"Did he touch you like this?" He asks as he slides an impatient hand inside my panties and my eyes almost roll back into my head as his curious fingers glide along my opening. Feeling for the forbidden flesh. Teasing me with slow, concentrated strokes. "Does this feel good?"

"Y-yes!"

Moving in a gentle but firm circular motion, the sensation of his fingers expertly rubbing against my swollen clit makes me writhe around uncontrollably.  
But his other hand holds me pinned in place, so that I can't escape the pleasure.  
So that I can't escape him.

His touch burns right through me, threatening to reduce me to a flaming pile of ashes.  
My heart is in my mouth, as he's suddenly easing a long finger inside of me, carefully sinking into my wet, warm heat, until it's immersed right up to the knuckle.

"Shit, you're so wet for me." He grins salaciously, as he slowly pulls back out then repeats the motion again, and again.

The muscles in my thighs tense and I quiver like a virgin that's never been touched, but still he holds onto me firmly. He is strong, so strong but completely controlled, as he steadily increases the rhythm, making my hips involuntarily buck against his hand.

"Oh God!" I gasp, feeling the sensual tightening deep and low, as the pleasure overwhelms me like nothing I've ever experienced.

He smirks wickedly, his eyes brazen and alive and filled with lust. "Say my name (y/n) I wanna hear you say it."

"J-Joker."

"Louder."

"JOKER!"

"Good girl." 

His actions are not rough, hurried or clumsy. He is precise, gentle yet firm and seems to know exactly how to whip a girl up into a frenzy and reduce them to a trembling wreck.  
So much for my ex saying Joker was a virgin. I can't believe the guy has had no sexual experience, he's way too good at this.

Feeling certain that I'm going to snap under the pressure of the tightening, I quite forget myself and grind against his hand, seeking further friction.

And then all at once, he slows , deliberately delaying my climax. "Hey, take it easy kitty cat. What's the hurry?"

I whimper, torn with conflicting emotions. I need release, yet the thought of this being over is agonising. I never want him to stop exploring my body like this.

"You gotta ask daddy nicely for what you want."

"P-please.."

He shakes his head. "Not like that (y/n). I said, Ask. Daddy."

"Pleeease...daddy." 

Bringing his face closer, his breath feathers my ear as his voice drops to little more than a harsh whisper, making goosebumps rise on my skin.

"That's better. Now I'm going to make you cum baby girl. Are you ready?"

I squeal as he picks up the pace again, relentlessly sliding his long digit in and out of my pooling core, whilst ensuring to rub the pad of his thumb against that most secret sweet-spot, working me towards the height of all pleasures.

"Go on kitten. Cum for your daddy. That's it."

Against my wishes, my eyes flicker shut. My breath is coming out in small pants, making my throat painfully dry. It takes every ounce of self-restraint to keep from moaning uncontrollably, but then the sweet tension that's been building erupts in an enormous, tingling rush.

I let out a strangled cry as the wave of euphoria washes over me. Threads of pure pleasure ripple through my body, making me shudder violently.

Joker momentarily closes his eyes, revelling in the sensation of my walls convulsing around his finger.

"That's my girl." He husks, before slowly withdrawing his hand and unfurling his tongue and licking his finger. "Mm. And who's your daddy now?"

Panting for breath, I somehow manage to form the words to answer him.

"Y-you are my daddy, Joker."


	23. Dancing In The Dark (pt.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2part Imagine ~ When you find yourself alone in the dark, Arthur comes to keep you company, which takes a rather unexpected (but enjoyable) turn.
> 
> \--1st person POV--

I've never found storms particularly frightening. As a kid, sure, but not so much these days. 

When I'd heard the loud rumbling of thunder, I'd padded my way over to the window in my poky little apartment. 

The sky over Gotham always seems to look bleak, as if the clouds have conspired against its residents, never allowing the sun to breach the permanent barrier they've created above the city. Even now that it's supposedly spring, and the nights getting progressively lighter, there's still no sunshine to speak of. 

But within seconds of the thunder sounding, the sky turns as black as tar, and the heavens open. What starts out as an incessant pattering, quickly escalates into a full-on downpour. The rain lashing against the windowpane, followed by the sound of the howling wind, whistling through the chasm of the stairwell in the old building.

And then the lights flicker out, plunging my small living room into darkness. The only brief flashes of light are provided by the intermittent cracks of lightening, splitting through the late evening sky.

Now, one thing I'm not a huge fan of is the dark. It actually terrifies me. Being alone in the dark is even worse, and for some reason being all by myself in the dark while a storm rages outside, ramps-up my anxiety tenfold.

With my arms extended in front of me, I stumble across the room. The all-encompassing blackness making me feel suffocated. Trapped. Isolated. 

Come on, get a grip (y/n), it's still your apartment. It's not like you're stranded in some foreign place. The boogeyman isn't going to materialise from the darkness itself and get you, for god sake!

But getting a grip is easier said than done. If it was that easy then no one would have to suffer at the hands of their anxieties. And besides, I might be in my apartment but Gotham is a scary place, plagued by crime, and power-outages are a criminals dream. Hence why most burglaries happen at night, obviously. 

I've always found the darkness scarily disorienting too. I'm suddenly unable to judge how far away the couch is. How close I am to the wall. I painfully stub my toe on the coffee table, letting out a string of expletives that would make a sailor blush.  
Limping towards what I hope is the general direction of the armchair, I sink down onto the floor and draw my knees up to my chest, hugging them tightly in the manner of a worried child.

I'm not sure how long I sit there like that, chest tightening in panic, willing myself to be calm. It's probably only about ten minutes but it feels like hours.  
Then suddenly, I hear a soft knock at the door.  
At first I can't be sure I've actually heard it, the sound so quiet amidst the rolling thunder outside. But a few seconds later it comes again, this time a little more frantic.

I can't be certain I know who it is, as the neighbours in this place aren't exactly neighbourly. They tend to just keep themselves to themselves, and in typical Gotham fashion, everyone is distrustful of each other.

The only person it could be, is Arthur. 

I've only lived here in this part of town a couple months, and I met Arthur the day I moved into the building.  
He was dressed as, of all things, a clown. Which as first impressions go, had me thinking that perhaps I'd made a mistake moving here. My mother always warned me of the dangers of downtown Gotham, and while a guy dressed as a clown might not exactly seem too intimidating, her words did resonate, having insisted that the area was full of crazies, amongst other things.

But then he'd shattered any preconceptions by gallantly offering to help carry up the box I was struggling with. Pleasantly surprised, I'd thanked him, quietly impressed that he carried the heavy box with ease in spite of his alarmingly frail stature.  
He barely spoke, which made the situation somewhat awkward, so I'd tried to engage him in polite conversation. But other than telling me his name, and that he lived on the third floor, I didn't really get much more out of him. Realising that he was cripplingly shy, I'd rambled on like I have a tendency to do, and tried to lighten the mood by cracking a joke;

"It's too bad you didn't get here earlier, Arthur. This is the last box." I chuckled.

And then he'd looked at me, the clown makeup accentuating his puppy-dog eyes, and said, "O-oh. I'm sorry. If I'd known I would've taken the bus to get here sooner."

At first I'd thought he was being sarcastic, but no. He was being completely sincere. And I realised in that moment that he was one of a kind. Kind of odd, eccentric, timid, and genuine. Genuine and kind. Which is certainly a rarity in this city.

So, I had told him that I would've made him coffee by way of thanking him, but seeing as I'd yet to unpack and even find the coffee, I said to stop by sometime for one.  
The invitation seemed to really take him by surprise. He'd mumbled his thanks and left, and to be honest I hadn't expected him to take me up on my offer.  
But the very next evening he'd turned up at my door, dressed smartly in burgundy pants, a white dress shirt and matching burgundy vest.  
It completely threw me, and it was only when he spoke did I recognise who it was.

After that initial, undeniably awkward, first coffee, his visits became a regular thing. He lives on the floor above me, and stops by at least twice a week, and I've been to his own apartment once for dinner with him and his elderly mother.  
So yeah, I suppose Arthur is the nearest I've come to making a friend here.  
He is a friend. Not a close one, but he's not just a casual acquaintance either. To refer to him as such would be doing him an injustice, because he's nothing if not considerate and attentive.

And now I'm hoping, praying even, that he is here. That it is him at the door. It has to be, and...and I want it to be.

"Arthur?" I call out as loud as I can in order to be heard above the raging storm. "Is that you?"

"(y/n)? Yeah it's me. Are...are you okay?" Comes the muffled reply.

"I am now." Immediately the tension eases in my chest, as I breath a small sigh of relief. "Just hang on. I can't see a thing."

"No wait." He responds, with uncharacteristic assertiveness. "Where are you?"

"The living room, but I'm coming now--"

"It's okay, stay there. I'll come to you."

I frown in confusion. "What?"

"Just give me a minute. I'll be right back, I promise."

"Arthur?"

There's no response, so I retrace the few steps I've taken, and wait anxiously. Wondering what on earth he's doing.

True to his word, less than a minute later there's a tapping on the side window, making me almost jump right out of my skin. I whirl around and I'm just about able to make out the movement of a silhouette outside.  
That crazy, lovable loon must have gone out in this appalling weather and took the fire escape.

I manage to make my way over without tripping and breaking my neck on anything, and unlock the old sash window. He assists in hauling it up and once it's open wide enough, carefully climbs inside.

"Hello neighbour." I say with a grin, shaking my head. "You're crazy. Look at you you're soaking!"

He shakes his head dismissively. "It doesn't matter. I just didn't want you struggling to get to the door."

My heart melts a little, moved by his consideration. 

"That's really sweet of you, Arthur. Thank you."

He fumbles around in his coat pocket, then pulls out his cigarette lighter, followed by a candle.

"I don't have a flashlight, do you?"

"If only I were that organised. I've never even owned a flashlight. That's something sensible people have."

He chuckles softly. "I used to have one but it broke. Does that still count?"

I smile, watching as he fiddles with the lighter, trying to get it to work.

"I'd say so. And you have candles. So yeah, at least you're prepared for power cuts. Unlike me."

"I only have the one but it'll have to do. It's one of my moms' scented ones. They help her sleep." 

He gives another flick of the lighter and this time the flame ignites, illuminating his slender face. His dark brows are furrowed slightly in concentration as he lights the candle. He looks up at me and smiles gently, green eyes creasing at the corners.

"Hope you don't mind the smell of lavender." 

I smile back, relieved. His presence alone has the most calming effect. The fact that he's brought a source of light with him, elevates him to hero status in my eyes.

"Arthur I wouldn't care if it was essence of dog shit. Thank you!"

He laughs again. "You're so funny, (y/n). You make me laugh--"

Without thinking I reach up and pull him into a forced hug, catching him completely off guard. He lets out a small gasp, his body tensing as I hold onto him for dear life. I don't know what's gotten into me but I've never been happier to see him, and the physical contact feels reassuring. I feel safe now.

"Sorry." I say, realising that he's stood rigid, clutching the candle awkwardly in one hand, the other hovering nervously at my back. "I'm just so glad you're here."

I feel compelled to explain myself. Feeling a bit embarrassed by my impulsiveness. I've never hugged Arthur before, and I can see that he wasn't quite prepared for it. Which makes two of us.

"R-really?" He stutters, eyes darting back and forth across my face.

"Well yeah, I mean, I was getting a little freaked out here by myself."

He nods understandingly. "That's why I came. I know you don't like the dark."

I blink in surprise. He actually remembers that?  
This one time when we'd been in the elevator and it had stopped temporarily, and the lights had flickered out. I'd almost had a panic attack, but Arthur had been there, uttering calming words of reassurance;

"Hey, it's okay (y/n). I'm here. It'll be fine again in a minute. It does this sometimes."

Not quite knowing what to say, I smile again and end up babbling like an idiot, "Well I, uh, I would make you a coffee but...obviously that's not an option. I have juice though, or water. Can I, can I get you some water?"

What is wrong with me? I feel nervous. But I can't figure out why. I mean, it's just Arthur. He doesn't usually make me feel on edge, so why am I tripping over my words all of a sudden?

He gives another small chuckle which sounds masculine yet soft, much like his voice. "I'm good thanks. Um...do you wanna sit down?"

Ah, yes. Sitting down would be the obvious thing to do, as we've been standing by the window for the last few minutes, and I'm just prattling on with myself.

"Sure, of course. Sorry." 

He guides the way over to the couch and we sit down. Without the background babble of the radio or television, the atmosphere seems inexplicably intense. Like the room has suddenly become charged with a heavy, nervous energy.  
I guess it much just be because I've never been alone with Arthur like this. The two of us sitting in the dark, huddled around one measly candle that isn't very big.

"How long do you think that will last?" I ask, nodding to it.

He brings a large hand up to his face, stroking along his sharp jaw in contemplation. "They usually burn for a couple hours."

"Right."

Sensing my unease, he shifts his slim body so that he's facing towards me. "Don't worry, the power should come back on soon."

"But what if it doesn't? Who knows how long it could take to fix." I say, sceptically.

He raises his sea green eyes, the intensity of his gaze practically piercing mine. Arthur has really beautiful eyes I've come to notice, accentuated by those long dark lashes that frame them perfectly.

"I won't leave you." He says softly, his sallow cheeks turning pink in the orange glow of the candlelight.

I sigh, smiling with alleviation, but my bottom lip trembles precariously. "But what about your mom?"

"She's sleeping. She won't wake up now until morning."

"Oh."

Once again I find myself stuck for words. His kindness robbing me of the power of speech. Yes I knew that Arthur was kind, with good old fashioned gentlemanly principles, but tonight he's really surpassed himself. Shit. I've never even had a boyfriend who's been this considerate towards me.

Resting his arm along the back of the sofa, he slouches further down into the couch, making himself comfortable, and I'm struck by the homely familiarity of his presence. The sense of security he's providing by simply just being here with me. It gives me a warm feeling that penetrates my very bones, and I have to fight the urge to snuggle up against him. Not that I would, because...well, this is Arthur.  
And yet, I'm still sorely tempted.

My gaze is stuck on him, watching as he pushes his brown hair back off his angular face, damp unruly curls gathering by his ears.  
And just like that my heart picks up a pace, making the blood fizz through my veins. I feel like a snow globe that's been shaken up then put back down.

Noticing that I've been staring at him for an inordinate amount of time, Arthur shifts a little awkwardly in his seat. A nervous smile curves his thin lips, displaying a small dimple in his left cheek.

"What?" He enquires, his tone laced with anxious curiosity.

I can't answer. The trance I seem to be in won't allow me to. I've been taken completely by surprise. This is so unexpected my brain is struggling to function.

Arthur has an undeniable charisma, a certain boyish charm which gives him an appeal that's a thousand times more potent than mere handsomeness.

Oh god. Oh no, I think to myself. I seem to have caught feelings.  
Feelings for Arthur.


	24. Dancing In The Dark (pt.2)

"Arthur Fleck! You're ruthless!"

"Sorry (y/n). I'm just following the rules."

In the dim light of the dying candle, he's looking at me all apologetically. His expression sincere. But I can tell he wants to laugh. He's biting back a smile and his green eyes glitter with amusement.

"You don't have to apologise." I giggle, counting out the fake dollar bills. "I just never knew you were so competitive."

"Hey, I'm not competitive." He insists, as he takes the paper money from me. "It's not my fault you landed where you did."

I give a little huff. "I know. But Park Place and Boardwalk are like the most expensive places to own, and you have properties on over half the board!"

He shrugs, smiling innocently, flashing his dimple all over the place. "Well you would insist on buying the cheapest places. You don't get much rent for them."

"Yeah tell me about it. It's like this place. If this building was one of the properties in the game, the rent would be worthless too."

Arthur chuckles and nods in agreement, as he reaches for the dice.

We've been playing monopoly for at least an hour now. I didn't even realise I still had it, nor do I know why I would've packed it when I moved, but it's come in handy tonight. The board game has helped pass the time seeing as there's nothing else to do.

The only problem, other than Arthur driving me to the edge of bankruptcy, is the light in here is barely existent now. The candle is on the verge of burning out and we can scarcely see in order to read the cards.

When it's my turn to go again I wind up landing on yet another one of Arthur's properties, quelle surprise. Not even bothering to hide his grin this time, he informs me that I owe him 250 dollars for rent.

"That's bullshit! It cannot possibly be that much. You're not reading it right." I protest.

Arthur leans towards the candle, squinting at the card he's clutching in his hand.

"I am. It's definitely two hundred and fifty. Sorry."

"Liar, you're so not sorry. Let me take a look."

I lean across to check the amount written on the card, and Arthur clutches it almost possesively to his chest, as if I might steal it from him.

"Are you saying I'm a cheater?" He says in mock-horror.

"I wasn't saying that, but if you won't let me see then maybe you are cheating." I say, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably.

"(y/n) you've offended me." He says playfully. "I don't cheat."

"No? What about before when you took two lots of money for passing go?"

"That was an accident. I forgot I'd taken it already. Anyway I put it back."

I narrow my eyes at him accusingly. "Only because I caught you. Now let me see the card."

"Fine." He snickers. "Take a look. I've got nothing to hide."

Just as he turns the card around the flame flickers sporadically, before finally dying out completely.

It's pitch black, the darkness so dense it makes me feel like I've been swallowed whole by it. Consumed. Panic hits me like a bucket of cold water in the face, making my breathing erratic. My heart rate increases to such an extent that I can hear the blood rushing in my ears.

"It's okay." Arthur's low, honeyed voice says right next to my ear, making me shiver alarmingly. Reminding me how close I was to him before we were plunged into darkness.

Any other time I would instinctively move away, not wanting to invade his personal space. But I don't. I like the closeness. His proximity is reassuring and has a calming effect on my nerves. And whether I should or whether I shouldn't, I like it. Simple as that.

We're both sitting on the floor close to the couch. The monopoly board spread out in front of us. It's funny to think just a few seconds ago I was giggling away, not a care in the world. Now I'm gripped by anxiety, and it would more than likely squeeze me to death if it wasn't for Arthur's company.

"(y/n), I'm right here. There's nothing to worry about." He reassures me.

I nod my head, not that he can see me, and breath in slowly through my nose then exhale out my mouth. I repeat this exercise a few times, until something makes me falter. Long cool fingers find my hand, cautiously searching out my own, before curling around them protectively. 

I'd been trying to steady my breathing, but as I sit in the dark in silence, my fingers interlinked with Arthur's, my breathing quickens. My heart begins thumping in my chest and I can feel it in my wrists and my throat. It's pretty cool in the room and yet my palms start to sweat, betraying a nervousness I can't understand.  
Or perhaps I just don't want to understand.

"Do you...do you wanna talk? It might help keep your mind off the dark." He suggests helpfully.

"Y-yeah, sure." I croak, swallowing hard. "What d'you want to talk about?" 

Arthur remains silent for a few moments while he considers potential topics. It would seem he's stumped for ideas too. For some reason my mind has gone completely blank. All I can focus on is the sensory overload.  
Arthur's hand is large, his skin slightly rough, and I decide I rather like the feel of it in mine. There's something so certain and masculine about it. His grip firm but not so tight that it's uncomfortable.

And I can smell the comfortingly familiar waft of cigarettes mingled with his shaving foam, shampoo, and the cologne he uses. It's an odd combination of clean and fresh, with spicy, smoky overtones.

I don't ever recall having paid that much attention to all of these little details before, but I must have done in order to find them so familiar.  
And now I'm worried. I shouldn't be noticing these things. I daren't think about what it could mean.

"What is it about the dark that scares you?" Arthur asks, finally breaking the heavy silence. "If you don't wanna talk about it you don't have to. In fact...I shouldn't have asked. S-sorry."

"No, don't be sorry Arthur." I say quickly, not wanting him to feel bad. "It just makes me feel...vulnerable. Trapped. It's like it feels as if it's...touching me, somehow. Surrounding me." I force a strained chuckle. "It's stupid I know."

"It's not stupid. It sounds awful." He gives my hand a gentle squeeze, and I swear I feel my heart melting in my chest.

"What are you afraid of?" I ask without thinking, then quickly add, "Everyone's afraid of something. Even if they say they're not. There's no shame in it."

Arthur's silent for the longest time, and his hand squeezes subtly tighter, betraying his own anxiety. I feel bad now for asking, but I return the squeeze, hoping to reassure him that it's perfectly okay to admit to being frightened of something.

I hear him fumble one-handedly for his cigarettes, followed by the momentarily spark of his lighter, which illuminates his handsome face.

"I...I don't know really." He says after a lengthy pause. "I guess it's...I mean, it doesn't scare me but...it bothers me quite a bit."

"What? What is it?"

He sighs deeply, his voice a barely audible mumble. "I don't know what it's like to be loved. To feel...wanted. You know what I mean?"

His words create a painful twinge in my chest, wrenching hard on my heartstrings.

"Yeah. Um, I think so."

Feeling unburdened by his admittance he continues, apparently eager to give voice to the fear that plagues him.

"It's like...I just wanna know how it feels. To love, and to be loved." I feel him move, and assume he's rubbing the back of his neck like he tends to do when he feels nervous. Another little detail that I've come to notice about him.

Oh hell. Looks like I may have a bigger problem than I first realised.

"Oh, Arthur. I'm sure you've been loved before." I say gently. "You've...you've had a girlfriend, right? At some point?"

To me it seems impossible that he couldn't have had one. I mean, Arthur is...  
Well, he's pretty damn adorable and...undeniably attractive in his own, unique way.  
There, I said it. I've admitted it to myself.

"Only the one." He admits reluctantly. "She didn't love me though, and honestly...I don't know if I loved her or not. I'm not sure I did, but it was so long ago. I'm starting to worry that I'll never know what it's like. To make that connection. To be certain that I know what love actually feels like."

The tugging of my heartstrings upgrades to yanking, filling me with a deep pang of sadness for him. I can relate to what he's saying on some level. That's why I'm still single. The only difference is I'm sure one of my exes loved me, and I them. So I'm struggling to find any words of comfort to offer.

Instead I find myself trying to lighten the mood by saying, "You just haven't met the right person yet, but it'll happen. Is there nobody special who's caught your eye?"

To my relief he gives an embarrassed chuckle. "Well....there is this one girl who's really nice."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Ooh, come on then, spill. Who is she?"

"Oh, um. She uh, she lives down the hall from me. Her name's Sophie."

"Sophie." I repeat leadenly. "She's the one with the little girl, right?"

"Yeah that's her. She has a...a really....beautiful smile."

I mutter some incoherent sound in response, feeling the full-on crush of disappointment. It's incomprehensible. It's unexpected. And it's utterly terrifying.  
Why should I be feeling so disappointed? It's not like I was expecting him to confess to having a crush on me. Was I? If he did then that would make things weird. So why would I possibly want him to be carrying some secret torch for me? The idea of him wandering aimlessly around his apartment, pining and yearning after me like some lovesick little puppy makes no sense at all.

"Are you okay (y/n)?" His enquiry shatters my eclectic thoughts.

"Y-yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Well you didn't answer my question."

"I didn't? Sorry Arthur. I mustn't have caught what you said. What did you ask?"

"I said I was thinking of asking her if she'd like to come and watch my standup at the club. D'you think I should?"

Oh god. How do I answer that? I can't exactly say hell no, it's a terrible idea. Not only because I've heard some of Arthur's jokes. But because there's every chance she might say yes. Which is shitty of me. I should want him to be happy, and I really do.  
Just...just not with her.  
Not with any woman actually, that isn't me.  
Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit.  
What is happening to me?  
This makes me a crappy friend and a horrid fucking person.  
And I'm so horribly confused about how I feel now.

"Um, yeah. Sure. Why not?" I manage half-heartedly, my tone of voice hardly convincing. 

What am I supposed to say? That I'm selfishly worried that if he starts dating then I'll see less of him? Because that's the only reasonable conclusion I can draw over why I feel like I've suddenly swallowed a lead weight.  
Otherwise this irrational jealously can only mean one thing, and I'm so afraid of what that thing is. Especially now that he's just confessed to crushing on Sophie fucking Dumond from upstairs.

"Are you sure?" Arthur persists, sounding a little sceptical.

"Yes I'm sure. Just ask her, Arthur. If that's what you want to do!" My tone is clipped and the words come out a lot harsher than I'd intended. Making me feel even more wretched.

"Okaaay."

My eyes follow the orange glow from the end of his cigarette, as he lifts it to his mouth and takes a generous drag on it.

"Shit. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. Take no notice of me, I'm just being stupid."

Having smoked his cigarette right down to the filter, he stubs it out in the ashtray that's been by his side all evening. Then I feel him shift around so that he's facing me. Our shoulders no longer touching. He's still holding onto my hand, his support unwavering in spite of me having just bit his head off.

"(y/n), you're not stupid. You're the smartest person I know."

But I don't have a beautiful smile, I think sourly. Losing myself to bitter thoughts.

"Is something wrong? You can tell me. Please. I want to help if I can."

Ugh. Why does he have to be so damn adorable. I don't deserve his kindness.

Taking a deep breath, I try to find the right words to express my feelings articulately. In a way that won't make me appear possessive and unreasonable. But the right words seem to dance out of reach, meaning that I end up sounding like a needy, irrational idiot.

"You...you've never invited me to Pogo's. It shouldn't bother me but...well I guess it does." I shrug my slumped shoulders. "I'd really love to watch your standup routine, Arthur. I'd like to come along and sit in the audience, and be there to support you."

"You would?"

"Of course I would. We're friends aren't we? That's what friends do."

"O-oh, just as a friend. Nothing...n-nothing more, right?" He stammers.

My face burns and now I'm actually glad of the dark so that he can't see me blushing. 

"Of course." I should leave it at that but my next words seem to tumble from my mouth before I can stop them. "I mean, you like Sophie. You don't like me...like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that. You know...romantically...."

"(y/n)..."

"But maybe I could still come along sometime..."

"(y/n)..."

"Not as a date, obviously. But as your friend--"

"(y/n)!" His voice grows surprisingly stern, the commanding tone forcing me into silence. "I...I would have asked you to come, but I was afraid you'd say no."

I frown, confused by his proclamation. "Why would I say no? I'm your friend, Arthur."

He remains silent for several furious heartbeats, then quietly utters the words that steal my breath away...

"Not as a friend. As more than that."

"W-what?" I gulp, nerves jangling furiously. "What you mean like...you wanted to ask me out? Like on a date?"

"Y-yeah."

Convinced I'm destined for a heart attack, I will my erratic pulse to calm down.

"But...you literally just told me you like Sophie."

"I know."

"Well, if you're interested in her then--"

"I'm not. Not really. I mean, she has a nice smile....but it's not a patch on yours."

"I don't understand."

"What I'm trying to say is, when you asked if there was anyone special who'd caught my eye, I didn't know what to say. So I said Sophie. When really..." He pauses, sucking in a deep breath. "Really it's you. But I didn't want to say anything, because I didn't want to freak you out. (y/n), your friendship means so fucking much to me. I don't want to lose that. Which is why I wouldn't ever dare ask you out."

"So, you're not actually asking me out?" I wheeze. "Not even now?"

"No, because I know what the answer would be. You don't think of me that way."

"I don't?"

"Well no. I figured you didn't. I mean, you don't...do you?"

This conversation is growing increasingly more perplexing and I almost want to cry with frustration. He's dropped such an enormous bombshell, but he's still only semi-admitting his feelings for me because he won't actually come straight out with it and ask me on a date. I'm hinting that I could like him more than I'm letting on, but not admitting to it, so we're just skirting the subject awkwardly. Dancing around each other, as if we're crossing a minefield in the dark.

And the dark is proving to be an effective tool for cloaking our true feelings and desires. But it's also the perfect cover to open up. It diminishes the embarrassment, not having to have this delicate discussion whilst we can see each other.  
The mask it provides emboldens me, so that I can take a massive risk. A gigantic leap of faith into the unknown.

I'm alarmed by the rapid rate in which these feelings for Arthur have come on. Indeed, it's as if they've been steadily growing, silently, without me even having noticed at first, and I'd been blissfully ignorant. That is until the devotion he's shown me tonight. And his remark about liking Sophie has shaken me from my slumber of denial. Giving me the wake up call I so desperately needed.

"Kiss me." I say, shakily. 

It isn't a question. I want him to kiss me more than I've ever wanted anything in my entire life. This coming from a person who's always dreamed of winning the lottery.

Arthur coughs, anxiously clearing his throat. His nerves clearly getting the better of him.

"W-what?"

"I want you to kiss me, Arthur." I repeat with more conviction, feeling steadily braver with each passing second.

Oh god. Is he going to say no? Even after what he's just admitted to? If he does I'll have to get on a plane and leave the country. Change my identity. It would be that embarrassing. I don't know how I'd ever face him again.

A long pause ensues, before finally he moves and I can sense him leaning in closer. Now I'm shaking like a leaf, each nerve-ending standing to attention as I await his lips with agonising anticipation and bated breath.

At long last they come, but no sooner have they made contact they're gone again. As he administers a chaste, soft peck to my lips, our mouths scarcely having even touched.

To say I'm disappointed would be a gross understatement.

"Arthur...?"

"Hm?"

"I want you to kiss me properly. If you like me more than just a friend, then please ....kiss me how you'd like to kiss me."

"Oh. O-okay."

For a moment the deafening silence holds us in it's grip. I realise he's still holding my hand, and my grasp has tightened on his. He takes a deep breath. A loose strand of hair falls down over my forehead. His large hand pushes it back carefully, and then he's pulling me closer, closer until I feel his lips on mine. Devouring me with one kiss, and then another, then another.

Beneath the faint taste of cheap tobacco and coffee, I also taste desire. A desire that has the biological fluids coursing through my body with a power I've never experienced before. Arthur's passionate kisses culminate in a soul-gripping lip-lock, and I feel as if I'm dissolving against him as my body curves into his obediently, liquefying in his arms.

We break fleetingly for air, both of us gasping, him gently nipping my full bottom lip with his teeth, before resuming his sensual administrations. But this time he turns his attention to my neck.

"A-Arthur!" I breath, eyes sliding shut to cope with the sensory stimulation, as he scorches a path down my throat with hot kisses, licking and scraping his teeth across the tender skin.

"(y/n) I've dreamed of this for so long. It...it doesn't seem real."

"It certainly feels real to me."

He groans as I slip my hands beneath his navy sweater, untucking his shirt so I can dig my nails into the soft skin of his back.  
I feel myself tilting as he lowers me down, scattering pieces of the monopoly set in the process, but neither of us could care less. We don't care because we're lost in the heat of the moment. Both of us being swept along by the burning need to feel each other closer.

His curious hands explore my body with fevered enthusiasm, making me feel blisteringly hot from the inside out. I whimper helplessly as he finds the super-sensitive spot just below my ear and suckles the skin, relishing the sounds he's drawing from my lips.

As Arthur moves atop me I can feel the distinctive bulge pressing against the centre of my body. There's no mistaking he's wickedly turned on, and the maddening lust I'm feeling as a result of him being so hot and bothered makes me a little lightheaded.

We're getting dangerously carried away. What began as innocent kissing has escalated into something much more carnal, and I don't possess the willpower to stop this before we go any further, even if I wanted to. I want to get carried away with him.

Reaching down between our writhing bodies, I trace his groin with my exploratory fingers, boldly cradling his clothed erection in my palm, working him in my hand.

"Oh god!" He exclaims roughly, rocking his hips into my touch. "(y/n), baby...oh baby, please...please don't stop." 

Hearing him call me baby and begging for me to keep stroking him almost makes me come undone right then and there.  
But there's an emptiness gnawing away at my insides, and only he can fill that void. I'm desperate to feel him there. To have him inside me. To hold him close and know that we have done this together. 

"Arthur...sweetheart....I want you to love me." I keen, displaying a level of neediness that my trembling body alone can't express.

"Are you...(y/n) are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I am."

"You want me to make love to you?"

"Yes. That is if you...if you want to?"

"Fuck. (y/n). What are you doing to me?" He groans helplessly, like a slave to the master of his desires. "Of course I want to. I want you so fucking bad."

His casual cursing is strangely arousing, adding to the already potent mix of his adorableness, charm, and attractiveness.

Within a matter of a few tense minutes of blind fumbling, he's freed himself from the strangling restraints of his black pants, my jeans and panties being pulled down too in the process.

And there, in the dark, on the floor in my living room, Arthur and I become one. Having succumbed to our baser urges. Pure, unbridled lust and the need for closeness. The need for a connection, love and feeling wanted.

He kisses my face, my lips, my forehead, groaning pleasurable, masculine sounds as his agile body presses mine into the carpet, while he begins slowly thrusting inside me.

I squirm and shake underneath him, whispering sordid words of encouragement into his ear, driving him wild.

Arthur's surprisingly skilled, each movement steadily smoother, deeper, faster, our perspiring bodies fusing together. I claw blindly at his shoulders as his thrusts grow even more forceful, more frantic.

Who knew that gentle, sweet Arthur possessed the libido of a wild, untamed beast? Certainly not me, but I'm not complaining.

I reach the pivotal of all pleasures mere seconds before his own release hits, Arthur moaning out my name as I tug on his hair in desperation.

The intensity of my climax is overwhelming, a fierce heat imploding in a mass of glorious tingles. I cry out his name, loud enough for the neighbours to hear through the paper-thin walls. 

Someone thumps on the plaster aggressively, yelling for us to shut up.

Arthur shudders violently, then collapses limply on top of me, and I relish the heat radiating from his body. The manly scent of fresh sweat and pheromones. I wind my arms around his neck, holding him close as he buries his face in my hair.

"It looks like we might've upset your neighbours." He pants, his soft voice gilded with malicious mirth rather than remorse.

"Thats too bad." I say with a giggle. "They're going to have to get used to it."

"They are?" He says, surprised, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "You mean this wasn't just a one-night thing? You actually want to...?" He trails off, as if he's reluctant to finish the sentence. Too afraid to actually say the words in case he's got it terribly wrong.

"Be with you?" I supply helpfully, nuzzling his neck lovingly.

"Yeah."

"I do."

"Really? You do?"

"Absolutely. You're an amazing man, Arthur Fleck. You're sweet and funny and kind and handsome, and that's without even taking your, um, shall we say hidden talents, into account."

"Stop, (y/n). You're making me blush." He laughs joyously, and his laughter is beautiful and infectious, and I want to listen to it forever.

I laugh along with him, unable to help myself. Any fears I had of the dark now banished, forgotten thanks to the company of this beautiful man, who I think the world of.

"I don't want to embarrass you, but it's all true. I want you to know how special you are. And maybe in time, hopefully, you'll begin to feel loved, and wanted. Because you totally are."

Running his fingers through the sex-tousled lengths of my (y/h/c) hair, Arthur rests his forehead against mine, so that are noses are touching.

"I already do (y/n). I already do."

End


	25. Diary Of A Teenage Loner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1part Imagine ~ Arthur is Gotham City High's most notorious loner, and you're the only student that's ever gotten remotely close to him. But while Arthur carries a torch for the most popular girl in school, you find yourself secretly crushing on him.
> 
> \--3rd person POV--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N this is a whopping 7,350 words long! It started out as just a random idea and then I got carried away. So I apologise if you find it too lengthy and boring, but I hope you like it **

"You really should try and quit smoking, Art. You know how bad it is for your health."

(y/n) looked up at her companion, following the orange glow of the cigarette as Arthur brought it up to his mouth and took a generous puff on it.

"I find it comforting to think that it might kill me before anything else does." He deadpanned, no hint of jest in his somber tone.

She rolled her eyes, feeling more than just a little exasperated.  
By nature he'd always had a rather cheery disposition, but over the course of these last few weeks she couldn't help but notice how he'd become more withdrawn, more broody.

Arthur Fleck certainly didn't have an easy life, that much was indisputable. His mom was a covert, passive-aggressive narcissist, and her boyfriend was a raging alcoholic with anger management issues.  
His home life was one of timid, subservient, mere existence. He practically lived in his room, only ever venturing out when he had to go to school, or was sent on errands.

Or when he came out here, like now. To sit with her on the wrought iron steps of the fire escape outside his bedroom window.

How long had they been doing this? 

Almost a year now.

Yes. A whole year of having to sneak around, because if his mother found out that he'd been meeting with a girl, friend or no friend, and neglecting his studies, she would be furious.

Penny Fleck was a strange creature, (y/n) thought. She'd never actually met the woman, but Arthur had given enough accounts of her bizzare behaviour for (y/n) to form quite a rounded opinion of her.

She was deplorable. Self-absorbed. Contradictory. Austere, and possibly just plain old fashioned crazy.

Ms.Fleck had to be crazy, to heartlessly pour scorn on her son's achievements like she did. Apparently she often told him that he'd never be academic, as he wasn't intelligent enough. Yet she encouraged him to work hard regardless, if he was to ever be as successful as Thomas Wayne; her employer.

She idolised the man and bored Arthur to tears with her endless tales about Thomas Wayne, the billionaire businessman philanthropist.  
He was handsome, she said.  
And clever.  
And of course, filthy rich.  
Whereas in her opinion, Arthur would never be any of those things.

The bizarre pressure she placed on Arthur's young shoulders was a burden he ought not to bear. 

But bear it he did.

However, (y/n) couldn't help but wonder if something else was on her friends mind tonight. That something actually being a someone. And that someone could only be Shannon Clark.

"Come on, Art...cheer up. You can't keep mooning over Shannon like this. There's more to life than her."

His head snapped down sharply, making her shift uneasily as he impaled her with his piercing green eyes.

"I am not mooning. I'm not even thinking about her!"

"You totally are." She stood up, taking the cigarette from his hand so she could take a generous drag on it herself, as she contemplated the situation. "Even if she wasn't going to prom with Kevin, it's not as if you'd ask her....would you?"

Arthur shifted his weight from one foot to the other; his antsy demeanour displaying his unease and dislike for having to discuss such a sensitive subject.

"Of course not."

"Then why keep thinking about it? About her? Why d'you keep tormenting yourself like this?"

"I'm not thinking about her." He insisted, taking the cigarette she proffered to him. "I don't know why you think I am. You say I'm obsessed, but it looks to me like you're the one with the obsession."

Arthur's words stung. Like a knife that had cut a little too close to the bone for comfort.

(y/n) wasn't obsessed with Shannon Clark.  
No. She was obsessed with Arthur himself, which meant that she secretly harboured a grudge against Gotham City High's most popular female student.

Everything about Shannon was boringly stereotypical. She was a walking, living, breathing cliché. She was a cheerleader, beauty pageant winner, homecoming queen, and had recently started dating Kevin Hudman; the schools resident jock, and head of the football team.

They were a match made in high school heaven.

Hell, to those like Arthur and herself.

God. It pained (y/n) to see Arthur pining after a girl who never gave him so much as a second glance; save for the times he got accosted in the hallway by a member of her clique. Then she would laugh cruelly at his expense.

(y/n) was in despair.  
Shannon didn't deserve Arthur's heart. She didn't want it, but like a young fool in love he still yearned for her in spite of everything she did, and everything she was.

"Why would I be obsessed with Shannon fucking Clark. I can't stand her!" (y/n) grumbled, irritated by his blindness.

How could he be so blinkered? It was totally beyond all of her comprehension.

"I do have a life of my own, Art." She added, tersely. "I couldn't care less about Shannon and her cronies. I have other, more important stuff, on my mind."

"Oh yeah, like what?" He raised an inquisitive eyebrow in disbelief, a faint smile quirking his lips.

This was it. She had his attention now. All she had to do was play it cool, and not blow it.

"Well, prom obviously." 

"Prom? You mean you actually want to go?" He sounded incredulous, which riled her a little.

"Yeah I do actually. I never said that I didn't. I think it could be fun. Don't you?"

Arthur shook his head, a disdainful look adorning his neat features. "I think I'd rather chew broken glass."

Ah. Okay. Well that was that then. With that short sentence all of (y/n)'s dreams were dashed. There was no hope of them going to prom together; not even just as friends.

"Who were you thinking of going with?" He asked as casually as he could, his interest having seemingly been piqued.

Her heart lifted cautiously. Perhaps if she just asked him herself, now, outright, then maybe there was a small chance he'd agree.

But the words got stuck in her throat. Fear trickled along her spine, turning her blood icy, making her shiver. 

If he said no, then what? 

Their little friendship could be ruined forever.  
And she wasn't sure she could risk that. Having Arthur in her life just as a friend was enough. It should've been enough.  
But still her traitorous heart whispered that it wanted more.

"I...uh, Josh." She mumbled, staring off into the middle distance. Suddenly she was finding it too difficult to meet his intrusive gaze.

"Joshua Stanzland?!" Arthur exclaimed. His voice had raised in pitch, making her jump slightly. "Are you...are you fucking kidding me? That asshole has actually asked you to be his date?"

"No. He hasn't." She said in a low voice. "I was thinking of asking him."

He remained silent for what felt the longest few moments of her life. 

Had her proclamation shocked him? If it had, she wasn't entirely sure why.  
She'd been hinting at her interest in Joshua for a while now. Even though it was all just a ruse. A dumb idea that had started off as a sort of defence mechanism. The entire school believed that she and Arthur were a thing, so out of embarrassment she'd pretended to have a crush on the local bad boy instead.

"So....you're gonna ask Joshua to go to the prom." He said at last, as he flicked his cigarette butt over the side of the steps. "That doesn't seem right. I mean, apart from him being a complete jackass, it's not exactly romantic is it? The girl asking the guy."

(y/n) observed him carefully as he stood with his back to her, arms crossed over his narrow chest, his trusty old navy sweater clinging lovingly across the sharp blades of his shoulders. He appeared to find the view of the alleyway below suddenly fascinating.

"Who needs romance." She scoffed, resting her knees on her elbows. "What's the worst that can happen? He can only say no."

"Won't you feel silly? If he says no. Won't it...won't it upset you?"

She simply shrugged in response.

Arthur's jaw visibly tightened, and he sucked in his cheeks, as though trying to calm himself down. "I didn't realise you liked him that much."

"He's cool. I dunno, there's just something about him. All the girls love a bad boy, Art."

Now it was Arthur's turn to scoff.  
Bad boy was putting it mildly. Joshua Stanzland was your typical rebel without a cause.  
He was forever in trouble; getting into fights and causing disruptions in class.  
The leather jacket wearing, black haired boy spent more time in the principles office than he did in the classroom.

"Oh please. I didn't think you of all people (y/n) would fall for all that James Dean bullshit he tries to pull off. It's such a cliché."

"Really, Art? You wanna talk about clichés? You enormous fucking hypocrite! You spend all day drooling over the homecoming queen!" She broke off into brittle laughter, and immediately tried to stifle it. Not wanting Arthur's parents to overhear.

Arthur blanched, his brow forging into a deep scowl. His expression grew dark. It made his eyes look hard and angry. It was unsettling. Out of character. And alarmingly sexy.

"I wouldn't ever ask Shannon out on a date. I don't want to. And I wouldn't humiliate myself like that. Come on, (y/n), you know how it works. The Shannon's and Joshua's aren't for the likes of us."

The likes of us.

The words resounded in her head, stirring up memories from their very first meeting...

(y/n) had come to Gotham City High after having been homeschooled all her life.  
Her parents, in all their infinite wisdom, had decided that she needed more social interaction with her peers, as they'd begun to fear that their daughter was in danger of becoming socially awkward. 

It was too late of course. She already kind of was socially awkward by then. So being sent to school felt more like a punishment, than them being concerned for her.

At first the other students had been naturally curious upon her arrival.  
They'd asked her many questions, set about teasing her, or trying to hit on her.  
She hadn't known what to do or how to respond.  
The noise, the crowds, all the attention had been overwhelming.

And then she'd spotted a whippet-thin boy who dressed far older than his age. He had a mop of unruly brown curls, which flopped over his face as he was remorselessly shoved over in front of the lockers; face-planting the ground with an undignified thud.

"Who's that?" She had enquired with a flinch, instinctively feeling a strong pang of sympathy for whoever he was.

Stephanie Brown, one of Shannon's cronies had laughed in response, turning away disinterestedly. "Oh him. He's a nobody. Seriously (y/n) the guy's a complete retard. He has this weird condition that makes him laugh whenever he gets anxious. Can you believe that? Total freak of nature. He should've been drowned at birth, you know like how they do with puppies that are runts."

The girl's vile words and the laughter that ensued made (y/n) feel angry, and almost physically sick. 

Was this how high school was? Nothing could have prepared her for such a shock. The startling reality making her feel numb to the bone.

As he'd gathered up the books that had spilled out onto the floor, hastily stuffing them back into his rucksack, (y/n), ever perceptive, spotted one that he'd missed.

Casually as possible she'd swooped down and picked it up, tucking it into her own backpack.  
He'd already vanished from the hall without a trace, but she figured she'd run into him again sooner or later. He seemed vaguely familiar. He was in her English class she was sure. 

That lunchtime she'd slipped away, needing to decompress and regather her thoughts.  
It was all making her a bit overwrought.  
The other kids were cruel, judgmental, competitive, and bitchy.  
And by god she hated it.  
She desperately needed to find some place quiet.  
Somewhere to hide out for a while.

Naturally she'd headed for the bleachers.  
But when she got there she came to realise she wasn't the only one seeking refuge under them.

The boy. The one who had been knocked down in the hallway, was there. Sitting in the shade, his bloodied nose buried in a book.

"Oh. Hey." She gave him a friendly smile. "You okay?"

Two large green eyes stared at her in languid interest.  
He looked at her as though she were a different species. Like he'd never even seen a girl before in his life, let alone talked to one.

"H-hey." He stammered in return, clutching the large book to his chest defensively. As if it would provide him with protection should he need it. "Yeah I'm...I'm okay." 

He put her in mind of a startled deer. A fawn actually, as he was oddly cute, lithe, and all spindle-limbed.

"Looks like we had the same idea, huh."

(y/n) felt stupid the moment the words left her mouth. Talk about pointing out the blindingly obvious. He must think her a compete idiot.

"I always come here." He told her in his low, rough voice.

"To get away from the assholes who pushed you over I presume. Can't say I blame you." 

"They're all assholes." He mused, scathingly. "There's not one of them worth talking to. And if...if any of them see you talking to me..." Nervously he reached up, rubbing the back of his neck with a large hand. "Well...let's just say it's social suicide."

She arched her neat eyebrow at him in amusement. "Wow. Sounds...dramatic."

At that he had chuckled, mildly bemused by her observation. "That's basically what high school is all about, the drama."

"Sounds kinda boring and idiotic to me."

He shook his head, smiling faintly. "You can't say that, you'll never fit in with that sort of attitude. If you want to hang out with the cool kids you've got to be like them and think like they do. Otherwise you'll be a social outcast. An outsider, like me."

"Well maybe I don't want to fit in." (y/n) had stunned him by saying. "If being accepted by the popular crowd means I've got to go along with their stupidity, their bullying, then I'd rather be a social outcast." 

Approaching him slowly, she'd then flopped down onto the grass, sitting cross legged beside him. "I'm (y/n) by the way. And if I'm going to hang out with the outsider then I'd better know his name...?"

His large green eyes widened in surprise, and as she held his gaze she'd been mesmerised by the sparkling green orbs that stared back at her disbelievingly. As if he wasn't entirely convinced of her existence.

They were the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen.

"I-I'm Arthur." He stuttered nervously. "Arthur Fleck."

From then on (y/n) had indeed been shunned by the majority of her peers for her having dared befriend the class retard.  
The outsider.  
The loner.  
Except...he wasn't alone anymore.

And whilst being Arthur's friend came at a cost; having then left herself wide open to become the target of their ridicule, she didn't regret the choice she had made.  
Nothing could induce her to break her friendship with Arthur.  
Nothing in the world. She loyally stood by him, through thick and thin. 

He was quiet, shy, and odd, but he was also funny, kind, and surprisingly sweet.  
All in all he had turned out to be the best friend she'd always dreamed of having.  
They had quite a lot in common, and in private he was like a whole different character.

She loved music, and Arthur had music in his very bones. He'd dance and sing along to any song, and sometimes even dance when there wasn't any music playing.  
He had natural rhythm and a flair for showmanship; often performing little magic shows for her, miming animatedly to songs on the radio, and showing her card tricks.

In their social banishment they shared a mutual disdain for their fellow students, which bordered on contempt. Lunchtimes and recess were spent under the bleachers, laughing over the idiocy of their peers and the pointless, petty drama they created.

Then things began to change. Around six months ago in fact.  
(y/n) had found herself wanting to spend more and more time with her friend.  
Naturally she enjoyed his company, but there was something more to it than that.  
It had only really become apparent when she'd found herself feeling increasingly jealous over Shannon Clark. An irrational jealousy that embittered her, and fuelled her resentment.

That first day beneath the bleachers (y/n) had given Arthur his book back. He'd been so relieved and thankful she was worried that he was going to cry.

Of course she had no way of knowing that Arthur was immensely relieved not just simply because he thought he'd lost his journal, but because if the book had fallen into the hands of anybody else, he'd have been taunted and ridiculed beyond the limits of his endurance.

Unbeknownst to Arthur though, (y/n) had skimmed through a couple of the pages, drawn by her own nagging curiosity.  
It seemed to be a diary, in which Arthur wrote all of his thoughts.  
His most secret thoughts. Dark thoughts.  
Thoughts about how much he loathed the bullies in school, and his mom's boyfriend. Thoughts about throwing himself down the fire escape in the hopes of then not being able to partake in sports at school, or off the roof of the building where he lived, to put an end to his miserable existence.  
Thoughts about enacting grisly revenge on his tormentors, regardless of the consequences he'd have to face.

But between the lines, the barely intelligible scribblings of a brooding, teenage loner, was a passage dedicated to his secret love for Shannon Clark, of all people.

Oh how Arthur hated himself for being attracted to the girl.  
He had always told himself he would never desire a high-class, spoiled prima-donna. He'd told himself that everything about girls like her, disgusted him.  
Apparently he'd been telling himself lies.

At first (y/n) kept silent, not wanting to pass comment on it. After all, it wasn't her place to remark on who Arthur was crushing on, and in the early days she didn't know him well enough, so didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable.  
It wasn't the sort of thing you could just drop into the conversation, and besides, Arthur didn't have to justify himself, or his reasons, to her.

But as time passed by and Shannon became more and more unbearable; her behaviour towards Arthur in particular, appalling, (y/n) found she could no longer be silent on the subject.

"You like her don't you?" She'd blurted out one day, sounding more accusatory than she'd intended. "She's so mean to you, Art. How could you like someone like that?"

Arthur had blushed furiously as his hands absently tugged handfuls of grass out of the unspoiled soil where he sat.

"I don't know." He replied, somewhat sheepishly. "When I was transferred here from Gotham Heights High school, she was the first real girl I ever saw who I thought was pretty."

"Real girl?"

"Yeah you know, like real life, not on TV, or something like that." He gave a lazy shrug of his shoulders." I didn't want to like her. But you can't choose who you're attracted to."

He was right about that. (y/n) was painfully aware of that fact, once she started developing feelings for the lovable little oddity that was her best friend.

What made matters worse was the rumours that circulated the school. Rumours of Arthur and (y/n) being a couple, and crass insinuations of what they got up to, which all started when Dale Campbell ran into the two of them at a convenience store in Gotham Heights one evening, while they were buying cherry slushies.

It had been the first time (y/n) had succeeded in cajoling Arthur into hanging out somewhere other than his fire escape. He'd been a nervous wreck the entire time, but had admittedly enjoyed the freedom nonetheless.  
That was until Dale had put in an appearance, and the repercussions that followed had been haunting them ever since.

"I sure hope they use a rubber when they get it on. Could you imagine what their kid would be like? Ugh. An ugly little freak."

That had come from Shannon herself, which proved to be the final straw for (y/n).  
She'd retaliated, and the slanging match had escalated into a full-on bitch fight.  
Regrettably it hadn't lasted long, as a teacher had intervened, but (y/n) still gleaned a modicum of satisfaction from having pulled a handful of golden blond hairs from the annoyingly beautiful head of her arch nemesis.

Arthur hadn't really passed any remark on the incident, other than to say (y/n) shouldn't have let Sharon's jibes bother her. It was still pretty fresh, having only happened a few days ago, but (y/n) was still silently seething.

How could he still like Shannon Clark even now? The rumours and shocking things that had been said about herself and Arthur, mortified him, so he should dislike Shannon for pouring fuel on the fire, not keep lusting after her.

And the way (y/n) saw it was....if people were going to talk shit about them regardless, then why not give them something to actually talk about.  
With that logic, it gave her the perfect cover to ask Arthur to be her prom date.  
But here she was, claiming she wanted to go with someone else, just to save face being as Arthur was still head over heels for Shannon.

"So if the Shannon's and Joshua's aren't for the likes of us....then who is?" She levelled at him now.

Arthur shot her a look of bewilderment, as he leaned against the iron railings. "I...I don't know. You'd get a boyfriend easy, or at least you could...if you stopped hanging out with me."

"Art, I'd never ditch you for some guy. Friends don't do that. Anyway, what about you?"

"Me?"

"Yeah. For all you know there's a girl right now, dreaming of you at night. Wishing you were hers."

"I highly doubt it." He shook his head resolutely. "I think I'm better off alone anyway. I'm a freak."

"Arthur Fleck, don't you ever say that. You are not a freak, or a retard. Why would you listen to them? And you're not alone. You'll always have me, Art." 

His sad eyes met hers momentarily, but then he quickly looked away. "Thanks (y/n). That...that means a lot to me. But you know what I mean, I'll never get a girl."

Right just do it. Do it now. Ask him! She internally screamed at herself.

His self-esteem was at an all time low. If it sunk any lower it would be subterranean.  
Here was her chance to make him feel good about himself. To prove him wrong, to show him he was deserving of love and affection.

But her palms were clammy, and her throat grew so tight she thought she might choke.

"Ugggghhh." She made a half-groan, half-growling sound out of sheer frustration, which was enough to gain Arthur's immediate attention.

"You okay?" He asked, looking at her worriedly. His handsome face etched with genuine concern.

"Oh uh, y-yeah...I've just got a bit of a headache that's all." She faked a smile and rubbed her temples with her fingertips, in an effort to look convincing.

"You don't usually make noises like that when you have a headache. It must be pretty bad, huh. D'you wanna step inside and I can get you an aspirin?" 

She blinked in surprise.  
She'd been visiting Arthur like this at home for months now, which was no small deal considering he lived downtown in Gotham Heights, so she had to take the bus from the upper east-side of Bedford Park where she lived.  
And never once in all that time had he invited her in. She figured he was too ashamed of his mom and her boyfriend, and afraid of them getting mad at him.

She herself would've invited him to her place, but he wouldn't go out, and even if he did there was no way she'd be allowed to have him up to her room.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to cause you any trouble."

"It's no trouble." He insisted. "I don't want you being in any pain."

Failing to deter him, (y/n) had no choice other than to climb in through the old sash window, feeling wretched about having lied to him.

Mentally reprimanding herself, she sat on the edge of his narrow, rickety bed while he went to fetch a glass of water and some aspirins.

"Here you go. I get headaches a lot, so they didn't suspect anything."

She watched him intently as he popped two of the pills out from the little plastic bottle, and held them out to her.

Damn he was so fucking precious, she wanted nothing more than to grab him by the front of his sweater and pull him in for a kiss.

But she didn't, obviously.

"Thanks, Art." She smiled, before throwing the pills to the back of her throat and swallowing.

Art.

That was so befitting. He was art personified.  
She had nicknamed him Art because that is exactly what he put her in mind of; a work of Art.

His hair was always in disarray but that just added to his abstract beauty.  
His dark curls were the colour of chocolate, and his eyelashes were scandalously long for a guy. They framed his gorgeous jade eyes perfectly; emphasising how vivid and striking they were. His face was sculpted and angular, with sharp cheekbones and a jawline you could cut diamonds with.

He was her work of art, and unlike he himself who preferred to admire his crush secretly from afar, she on the other hand ached with the need to tell him.  
Tell him just how much he meant to her, and how beautiful he was.  
The sort of beauty the likes of which Shannon Clark didn't deserve, not in this lifetime or any other. She would never be worthy enough for him.

"What?" He asked, suddenly shattering her thoughts and pulling her focus back. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

To her horror she realised she'd been openly staring at him. So transfixed by his kind, handsome face.

"Art."

"Yeah?"

(y/n) swallowed hard and took a deep breath. "Will you go to prom with me?"

Arthur's thick brows shot upwards, almost reaching his hairline. "W-what?"

"Will you be my date for the prom." She clarified, just to ensure he didn't misunderstand her somehow.

His large eyes stared at her in astonishment, wide and unblinking. "B-but (y/n) if we went to prom together, t-that would just make everything worse. The gossip. The rumours--"

"I don't care about any of that. Fuck them, let them gossip! In fact..."  
Boldly she moved towards him with growing conviction, and placed her hands on his shoulders. "...have you ever thought...all that stuff they say about us...we may as well just....do it?"

The hard set of Arthur's shoulders tensed beneath her touch, making him feel like a statue carved from granite.

"(y-y/n)! Wha-- what are you saying?"

"I'm saying why don't we just do what they say we do. We've got nothing to lose. And...and we're both still virgins, right?"

Arthur didn't answer. He was incapable of speech, and she could feel him trembling.

"I figure it'd be safe, our first time being with each other." She pressed on, ignoring the heat that flooded her face.

"First time?" He echoed, sounding utterly stricken. His usually pale pallor was now blotched with pink, evident to his embarrassment. "Why would you want to do that...with me?"

Before she could stop him, he pulled free of her embrace.

"Why? Because I want to, Art. Because I trust you. There isn't anyone else I would rather do it with."

"W-why are you saying this? You literally just told me you want to go to prom with that piece of shit, Joshua Stanzland."

"I...I didn't mean it." She confessed, her heart wrenching in on itself painfully. "I didn't know what else to say."

"That makes no sense! You're just...I don't know, saying hey lets have sex because...? I don't know why. Is it because you feel sorry for me? Or just to make some stupid point to those fucking jerks at school? No. No (y/n) I'm not going to sleep with you for some dumb reason. I don't want to do that."

She leaped to her feet. Frustration, anger, and plain old hurt prompting her to action. She'd never felt so humiliated. So ashamed. She was deeply ashamed of herself.  
What had come over her?  
She didn't know but it was by far the worse thing that had ever happened to her.  
Arthur looked furious. She had never seen him look so angry.

Was she going to lose him now?  
It certainly looked like it.

"I'm sorry." She choked the words out. "I shouldn't have said anything. I'm an idiot. Just forget I said any of it, please."

"How can I just forget it (y/n)? Wait! Where are you going?"

She'd made her way back to the window, ignoring Arthur's pleas for her to stay.  
The sound of her own heart pounding in her ears was deafening.  
Her pulse was racing and she felt a little lightheaded.  
She just had to escape. To be away from him, and as far away from this mess as possible.

"I need to go, Arthur. I should've known better. I know you're in love with Shannon, or at least you believe you are, but the difference is....I actually want you!"

"H-have you been reading my journal?" He demanded, his voice quivering. "Did you read it when I was out of the room?"

"I haven't touched your journal!"

Shakily she climbed out of the window and descended the staircase as quickly as her wobbly legs could carry her.

Above she heard Arthur calling out her name, urging her to come back.  
The sound of his voice, all desperate and frantic, made her heart shatter.  
But she didn't go back.

She couldn't go back...

>>\--------------------------------------<<

The following morning, (y/n) lay tucked beneath her comforter; it's warmth soothing and safely comforting, like a cocoon.

She had faked being sick, unwilling to face Arthur after the events of the previous night, and somehow by some miracle, her parents had believed her and let her stay home.

It wasn't by any means a long-term solution.  
Indeed, a part of her wanted to talk to him, to try and repair the tattered remains of their friendship.  
But she wasn't feeling brave enough to face him. She was genuinely afraid that her rash actions and uncharacteristic behaviour had altered their friendship forever.

Like Arthur had said, how could he just forget?

At around midday (y/n) heard a knock at the front door, which was enough to lure her from her bed. Her mom often ordered things, so she wondered if it was a package being delivered.

Opening the window she leaned out, straining to see.

"Hello?" She called, squinting slightly due to the blinding sunlight.

A slender figure stepped back from the porch; one large hand raised to shield his eyes as he cast his emerald gaze upwards.

Was it?  
It couldn't be.  
It was!

"A-Arthur." She stammered, not even bothering to hide her surprise. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't come to school. I was worried about you." He replied.

Holy shit. It wasn't like Arthur to ditch school. She never knew he had it in him.

"I'm sick, that's all."

"(y/n)."

"What, Arthur?"

He kicked at the ground awkwardly with the toe of his scuffed shoe. "Can I come in?"

Her stomach churned so violently she actually began to feel nauseas. "I'm sick, Art. It might be contagious."

"Okay, well I'm willing to risk it. Please (y/n). I promise I won't stay long."

Heaving a sigh of defeat, she nodded her head grudgingly. "Fine. There's a key under the mat. Come on up, if you must."

Hastily she checked her reflection in the mirror, then immediately wished that she hadn't. Her eyes were still swollen and red-rimmed from crying, her hair a tangled mess.

She just had time to drag a hairbrush through her knotted (h/c) tresses, when she heard Arthur's footsteps out on the landing. 

"In here." (y/n) called to him, already feeling flustered that she was dressed so shabbily.

The door opened and Arthur's face peered round it cautiously. Almost immediately his eyes settled on her, and his face turned dusky.

"O-oh I didn't...I didn't know you wasn't d-dressed."

Unable to keep from giggling in spite of the awkwardness, she raised the hem of her oversized shirt, flashing the small pair of shorts she was wearing.

"Relax, Art. I'm not pantless, see?"

He gave a nervous chuckle as he stepped in, visibly relaxing. "Ah, right. Sorry I just thought--"

"You just thought what? That I'd try to seduce you or something?" She joked, clumsily.

He didn't respond at first, just looked contemplative, as a charged silence held them in it's grip.

"I didn't think that, I'm not that lucky. It would be pretty fantastic if you did though." He said finally, his voice sounding rougher than usual.

She stared at him, taken aback. "Art!"

"What? (y/n) you're beautiful...any guy would be lucky to have you, let's face it." 

"Yeah? Well obviously not, given your reaction last night. Which by the way, I'd rather we just forget. If we can."

Feeling suddenly in need of some comfort, she made a dive for her bed; propping herself up against the headboard, she pulled the comforter so high up that it almost reached her chin.

If they were doing this; discussing what she'd said to him last night, then she needed somewhere to hide.

"I...I didn't know what to think." Arthur raked his hands through his hair, then plopped himself down on the end of her bed. "It freaked me out 'cause it was so unexpected."

Okay. So they were doing this. Talking it over.

Well, better to bite the bullet and face the music...

"Arthur...all I can say is that I'm sorry. I don't know what happened, it's like I just couldn't keep it inside anymore." She drew in a deep, calming breath. "I shouldn't have blurted it out like that. I shouldn't have said anything at all."

"No, I'm glad you did..." He cleared his throat, softly. "I don't want you to think I didn't want to...you know. I was just afraid that you were feeling sorry for me, because I'd said that I'd never get a girl."

"I would never say something like that out of pity, Art. I genuinely like you a lot, dummy!"

"Yeah I kinda figured that when you said you wanted me. But then you left."

Her cheeks flamed, and she pulled the comforter higher so that it covered her mouth. Meaning that her next words came out muffled.

"I wish I hadn't said anything. I know you have a crush on Shannon. I was being stupid and..." 

She trailed off as he slowly reached into his back pocket and pulled out his rolled-up journal. 

(y/n) watched with keen interest as he flicked through the pages, until he finally found what he was looking for.

"Here. I guess you'd better see this."

Arthur fought to steady his breathing as she leaned forwards and took hold of the book.

It was all in there.  
His thoughts and feelings documented since the first day she had come to Gotham City High.

The embarrassment was crippling, but he could think of no better way to prove to her how he felt, and had felt, since the day they met.

Shannon Clark couldn't hold a candle to (y/n).  
Shannon's beauty paled in comparison, and her cruelness was even further exemplified by (y/n)'s kindness.

Arthur no longer cared one bit for Shanon Clark, and hadn't cared for a very long time indeed.

He had been infatuated with her, but he was in love with (y/n).  
It was stated in black ink on each page he'd written for the past year.  
It was all there.  
His admiration, his gratitude, even his lust, but most importantly...his love.

(y/n) sat stunned as she read through each page; a sputtering, shocked, emotional mess of a young woman, deciphering the scribbled handwriting of her beloved friend, and crush.

Arthur grew more and more anxious as the minutes ticked by without her saying a word. His leg shook as he tapped his foot on the floor; unable to be still.

"P-please don't think it's creepy." He mumbled, his chin sinking into his chest. "I-I mean, I know I'm weird, but I wasn't writing all that stuff cause I'm a creep. I just needed to get it out of my head, and I didn't want to tell you because I didn't think you'd ever feel the same way as I do."

"I don't think you're a creep, Art." She managed, with some effort.

Tears were pooling in her (e/c) eyes, and the hard rush of emotion caused her chest to tighten, making it difficult to breath, let alone speak.

"You don't?" He turned to meet her eyes, feeling the usual flutter in his stomach. 

The flutter he'd first found so very ominous, but had learned to live with.  
And as she held his gaze, the fluttering increased, becoming heated, and he didn't dislike it. 

At first he'd been afraid. Afraid or a feeling he didn't understand and couldn't control.  
But then he'd come to realise that it was real love he was feeling, and this was how love worked, so he just had to deal with it, regardless of how it made him feel.

"No, I'd never think you were a creep." (y/n) smiled, turning the book so he could see a specific paragraph she was pointing to. "Even though you were planning on stabbing Josh with a pair of fabric scissors!"

Wincing, Arthur let out a forced laugh. "I...I wouldn't have really. It just made me mad, thinking that you wanted him."

She scooted forwards and playfully thumped him on the arm. "How the hell did you think I felt? I thought you wanted Shannon!"

"Ow!" He rubbed the spot where she'd scarcely touched him. "I kept telling you I wasn't thinking about her, but you wouldn't listen!"

He grasped a pillow and gently bopped her on the head with it. She retaliated by lunging at him; her fingers working their way to his sides, where she knew he was most ticklish.

For a moment they engaged in their childlike playfigjting, laughing as they tumbled around on the bed.

Then Arthur found himself above her, and their laughter dissipated. The innocent playfulness having now been replaced by something far more intimate, and intense.

"Will you be my date for the prom, (y/n)?" He asked, breathless as he gazed adoringly into her eyes.

She could feel the warm kiss of his breath against her face, he was so close. Her heart was thumping away frantically in her chest, at the sensation of his slim body pressing hers into the soft mattress beneath her.

"O-of course I will, Art. I was the one who asked you, remember!"

"I know. But I also said it isn't very romantic...the girl asking the guy."

"Hm, I never knew you were a romantic at heart. No wonder that rumour about us getting it on in the toilets bothered you so much." She giggled. "And there was me thinking the gossip only bothered you because you didn't feel that way about me."

Arthur scrunched his face in mock disgust, which made her laugh harder. 

"I was embarrassed for you more than anything. I thought the idea of us, you know, would repulse you."

"You dumbass, Art. It didn't repulse me. Except maybe the thought of doing it in the toilets, ew. As if. They're disgusting."

He threw his head back and laughed, then his eyes became hooded; filled with fire and passion, as he noted the convenient position they were in, as well as the comfortable surroundings.

"You know...being in a cozy bed, and having the entire place to ourselves with nobody home to hear or interrupt....is pretty romantic."

He had to say it. Who knew when such a gloriously perfect opportunity would arrive again.

Registering his meaning, (y/n) gasped softly, but managed to nod in response.

"That is....if you're not feeling too sick." He added with a wicked grin.

(y/n) frowned, but still smiled at him like a smitten idiot. "Art, you know damn well that I'm not really sick."

"True. I knew you were hiding from me. Which is why I had to come, and I'm glad I did." 

"I'm glad you did too."

And then suddenly it was happening.

Arthur Fleck; the love of her life, pressed his lips to hers, and her heart almost burst through her chest at the indescribable feelings he evoked, as they shared their first wonderful kiss.

"Love me, Arthur..." She breathed against his lips, her entire body trembling due to the burning ache, the desperate need, to have him closer still. "...show me how it feels to be loved."

"I do love you (y/n)." He groaned, burying his face against her shoulder. "Shit. I want you. I want to show you just how much I love you."

"Then what are we waiting for? Arthur, I love you so much." 

Later that night at home, when Arthur sat down to write in his journal, he wouldn't write about the way her small, delicate hands had pushed into his hair, and tugged at his sweater; pulling it over his head, impatient to feel his body.

Nor would he write of how he'd showered her with gentle kisses, his own hands sliding beneath her baggy shirt, and the way he had fumbled to hook his thumbs into the waistband of her shorts...

No. It was too personal. Too delicious, and he didn't want those thoughts out of his head. He was more than happy to keep them there, where he could cherish them forever.

Instead he simply wrote....

I'm not a freak. I'm not a retard.  
I'm not dumb, I'm not alone, and I'm not a virgin anymore!  
I am beautiful, the girl I love told me so.  
I am special.  
And I am loved

End


	26. The Birthday Boy (pt.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a 4part story: You work at Haha's as a kissogram and decide to put your skills into practice to cheer Arthur up on his birthday, without fully thinking through where it might lead...

\-- 1st person POV --

When people ask me what I do for a living I tend to be rather liberal with the truth.

Singing telegrams have been a thing since forever, although it isn't quite as popular any more now it's the 80's. Booking a singer to deliver greetings to a friend or loved one is a bit old fashioned.

But 'kissograms' are still very much in high demand.

Yeah, that's what I do. I get paid to show up as a surprise at parties and sing, usually happy birthday, and perform a little striptease for the birthday boy.

It's not actually as trashy as it sounds. I never strip fully naked, usually just down to a basque, french knickers, and stockings, and once I've finished my rendition of the song I give them a kiss on the cheek and leave.  
Simple as that.  
Easy money.

I'm not a proper stripper or exotic dancer. There's a strict no touching policy and no amount of cash could tempt me into providing extras for the client.

But.

There's still a stigma that comes with this line of work and I am admittedly a bit ashamed of what I do. I find it kind of humiliating. Especially considering that I moved to Gotham city hoping to make it as a singer or professional dancer.

Needless to say, that hasn't exactly worked according to plan.  
I haven't completely given up hope, but in the meantime I have to pay my bills, and the job, while not exactly ideal, is still pretty cushy.

I only work evenings and more often than not it's weekends only, which means I have plenty of free time to attend auditions and I've started taking acting classes.

HA-HA'S Entertainment Agency is where I'm employed. They hire out street performers and party clowns for all kinds of events and occasions.  
There's a few jugglers, stilt-walkers, fire-breathers, and even a male stripper.  
The difference between us though is he strips right down to his pants, but he doesn't have to give the client a kiss.

Sexist right?  
Still, at least I get paid a few cents more than he does.

Mostly though at HA-HA'S, there's clowns.  
And I mean that in every sense of the word.

Out of them all there's only two that are bearable.

Gary, who makes a living out of being a 'diddy clown'.  
He's just the best.

And Arthur.  
Actually, Arthur is a little bit odd, but he's also the sweetest guy you could ever meet.

I realised he was painfully shy the very first time I met him. It didn't exactly take a genius to figure it out, as he was so awkward and clumsy, and he could barely even speak to me....

"Right guys, I wanna introduce you to our new member of the team. This is (y/n)."

The changing room came to a standstill as all eyes turned toward me.  
A few catcalls and wolf whistles ensue and I respond the only way I know how.  
I almost eye-roll myself into another dimension.

"You guys play nice now." My new boss, Hoyt, warns them semi-seriously, as he left the room.

"I'm sure you and me could play real nice together, sweetheart." A big guy drawled as he pulled on his clown bracers.

"Shut up Randall." The friendly one chided him, before coming over to shake me by the hand. "Ignore him he's an idiot. It's lovely to meet you (y/n), the name's Gary."

"Thank you Gary." I smiled, thankful to have made a friend and ally so quickly.

He then proceeded to introduce me to the other few guys, but in all honesty I practically forgot their names minutes after him telling me.

Except Arthur. I didn't forget Arthur's name. 

Maybe it's due to it being a memorable meeting, because the second Gary introduced him to me he dropped a pot of white face paint which hit the floor, the lid came off, and it went everywhere.

Including on my black suede ankle boots.

"Shit! S-sorry. I'm so sorry." He mumbled, bending down trying to wipe up the mess he'd made. "I...I'll pay to have t-them cleaned for you."

I wasn't too impressed by his clumsiness, but then he burst into a manic fit of laughter.

As the others taunted and heckled him, Gary quickly explained to me about Arthur's neurological condition which causes him to laugh whenever he feels anxious.

"How awful. The poor guy." I remarked sympathetically, as the laughter went on and on.

It was uncomfortable to watch. This underweight, thirty-something man gripping his chest and trying to cover his mouth as he gasped and choked.  
It was apparent he was in physical pain as a result of the unrelenting laughter.

As time goes by, I haven't learned a lot about Arthur due to his shy, reserved nature, but I do know that he gets anxious a lot. Because he gets antsy, and laughs a lot.

I also know that he's a Scorpio.

This random bit of information I found out one day after everyone got into a conversation about star signs...

"You're a typical male Aries." I told Randall, who is always hitting on me and he's never deterred no matter how scathing my rejection is.

"I'm not a typical anything, sweetheart." He grinned from across the table. "You uh, you believe in all that star sign stuff then?"

I sat pouring over the horoscope section in the newspaper, whilst I drank my lukewarm coffee. "Yeah some of it seems pretty accurate. Do you?"

"Oh yeah, yeah. Sure."

"Pfft, yeah right." Gary chimed-in with a laugh. "You've always said anyone who wastes their time reading horoscopes is a nut. That it's just a bunch of bullshit."

"I think you must be confusing me with somebody else, short-stack. 'Cause I never said that." Randall lies not very convincingly. "It was Artie that said that. Right, Artie?"

Arthur sat with his back to us, carefully applying his makeup in the vanity mirror. "No I've never said that." He muttered.

Gary laughed in triumph while Randall protested his innocence.

"As long as I get a free show from you on my birthday, that's all I care about." He leers at me. "I've always wanted to see you in action. And that whole 'no kissing on the lips' rule wouldn't apply to me."

"Leave her be, Randall." Arthur leaps to my rescue. Which is a pleasant surprise.  
I don't need rescuing, but it's nice that he cares.

"It's okay Arthur. If I deliver a kissogram to him in his dreams he better wake up and apologise."

Gary hoots with laughter and Arthur laughs too. But this is real laughter. The genuine kind that I've never heard from him before. It's soft and lilting, and I feel strangely happy and proud to have been the one who made him laugh because he found something I said funny.

"So anyway....do you read your horoscope, Arthur?" I ask, turning on my chair so I'm facing his back.

Without his shirt you can see just how skinny he is. You can actually count the visible vertebrae in his spine.

"Uh, no." He replies quietly. "It has the word "horror" in it, and there's already enough of that in my life."

I'm so surprised and amused by his joke that it's now my turn to burst out laughing. 

His eyes meet mine in the mirror and he looks shocked. As if he can't believe my response.

"You're funny, Arthur." I tell him, holding his gaze in the reflection of the glass.

"I am?"

I frown a little, still smiling at him. "Well yeah, I think so."

"You do?"

"Sure."

"Really?" He swivels around on the chair to face me.

"She's lying. She just feels sorry for you 'cause you're a loser." Randall interrupts, and I thwack him with the newspaper.

"No I'm not! He made me laugh. And he's not a fucking loser!"  
Turning my attention back to the newspaper, I try to engage Arthur in further conversation. It's the most he's ever said to me before.  
"So you don't know your sign? Let me guess...um..."

He blinks like a startled rabbit as I lean forward in my seat and study his face closely. Even though his face is painted white I can see he's blushing for some reason.

"Um...Virgo? They're meant to have amazing eyes, and yours are.." I begin to lose myself in those glittering green orbs and feel quite winded. I never noticed how beautiful his eyes were before. "....green...and, well they're...p-pretty." I stammer, which is out of character for me.

Immediately Randall seizes the opportunity to tease poor Arthur remorselessly. "Aww, we'll call him 'pretty green eyes' from now on, right guys?"

"Sexy!" I blurt, for devilment. Wanting to teach Randall a lesson and maybe boost Arthur's confidence. "You have incredibly sexy eyes, Arthur. He's just jealous 'cause his are brown because he's so full of shit!"

Randall bristles but recovers quickly. "Actually they're not brown."

"It was a guess." I say in a bored voice. "Like I'd actually notice or care."

All the while Gary has been chuckling to himself, now he interjects in his adorable London accent. "Is (y/n) right, Arthur? Are you a Virgo?"

Arthur shifts uneasily on his seat. "I don't know what sign I am."

"When's your birthday?" I ask him.

"October." 

"Ah, so you're either Libra or Scorpio." I scan the horoscope column. "October what?"

"28th." He says in a small voice.

"Ooh. A Scorpio." 

Randall sneers. "So much for sexy Virgo eyes."

I raise my eyebrows. "Actually they're known as 'sexy Scorpio' so, I guess that means Arthur's the complete package." 

Poor Arthur. I see my retort affects him as he hastily continues applying his makeup, only to start laughing uncontrollably.

I felt guilty for embarrassing him like that, but I just want to make him feel better about himself. It's clear from his slumped posture that he has zero confidence, and Randall mocking him doesn't exactly help.

So. For some reason it sticks in my mind that Arthur's birthday is in October, although admittedly I do forget the exact date.

A few weeks have gone by since that conversation, and I don't really give it any more thought until one late October afternoon.

Usually all the guys have gone home by the time I'm preparing to go to work, and even if any are straggling behind, I wait until they leave so I have the place to myself when I'm getting ready.

But today as I walk in I'm completely caught off guard by a lonely figure sitting hunched on the bench in front of the lockers.

"Arthur!" I exclaim in surprise. "What are you still doing here?"

He jumps upon seeing me and looks all apologetic. "Sorry (y/n). I...I lost track of time." 

He makes to stand then winces, as if he's in pain.

"Arthur, are you okay?" 

He nods his head, even though it's clear to see that he's struggling to move as he stuffs the remainder of his things into his shopping bag.

Frowning, I approach him, concerned. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing. Honestly, I'm fine." 

"You don't look fine, sweetie." I reach out and place my hand on his shoulder and he flinches.

"Please, (y/n). I'm okay."

He turns to face me. His clown makeup hasn't been washed off all that well. There's still traces of white around his neck and red on his lips.

I shake my head, unconvinced. "Arthur I know there's something wrong. Please, just tell me. I want to help."

He refuses to look me in the eye as he sighs heavily in defeat. "I got jumped."

My eyes widen. "What?"

"It's no big deal."

"Of course it's a big deal. You've been hurt--"

"Not that much." He argues.

"Then let me see." I tell him bluntly.

His dark brows lift. "Oh, no. That isn't necessary."

"Arthur either you show me or I'll call the cops and report the incident."

"What? No. I don't want you to do that. It was just a bunch of kids."

Without thinking I take hold of his shirt and try to slip it down off his shoulders. He recoils a little, trying to squirm out of my clutches. 

"(y/n) please. You don't have to do this."

"I want to check that you're not seriously hurt. You might need to go to the emergency room."

"No!" He says flatly. "No hospitals. But okay, I'll show you."

His jaw clenches as he shrugs out of his shirt with great effort. 

My hand automatically clasps over my mouth in shock. Angry purple bruises are already starting to bloom across his narrow shoulders, and as I urge him to turn slowly around I can actually trace a path around to his lower ribs.

"Jesus, Arthur! No wonder you're in pain." 

Now he's facing me again, looking crippled by humiliation due to my careful scrutiny. On closer examination I can see that some of the red around his lips isn't just paint. He has a split lip, and it probably hurt too much for him to wash his mouth properly.

"Do you think you've broken anything?"

He shakes his head. "No. I've had broken bones before and it hurts more than this." He says ominously.

My heart pinches. It's hard to imagine why anyone would want to pick on this poor, defenceless man. He's so vulnerable.

There's something about him that provokes the instinct in me to protect him. He's delicate, fragile even. So deciding in that moment that I want to tend to him, I set to work, efficiently steering him back onto the bench.

"Sit there Arthur, I'm going to look after you."

"You really don't have to do that (y/n)."

"No, but I want to." 

I pour some warm water into a bowl that I find in the kitchenette area, and fetch a clean cloth and towel from the shower room.  
Then I sit down next to him on the bench and bathe his swollen lip as gently as I can.

"I'm sorry, sweetie." I soothe when he hisses in pain. "Be sure to get some ice on this when you get home. That should reduce the swelling."

"Thank you." He whispers, his eyes closing while I carefully use the towel to dry his mouth. 

Afterwards I make him a cup of coffee and manage to find some aspirin in the kitchen cupboard.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready for work?" He points out.

I sigh, glancing at the rota. I'm due to 'perform' at some guys retirement party tonight and I have to be in Gotham Plaza by 7pm.

But as I look at the date on the calendar, I realise something.

October 28th is Arthur's birthday.

My heart wrenches at the realisation.  
It's his birthday and he's been beaten up.  
How shit can life be?  
God, the poor guy.

"Oh, yeah. I'll start getting ready in a minute." I answer distractedly, as I make my way over to the closet where my outfits are kept. Then I ask, as casually as I can, "Did you...did you have any plans for tonight?"

He looks at me confused. "Not really. Just another regular night in watching TV."

I can't believe he's doing nothing to celebrate his birthday.  
In fact I'm about to mention that to him, possibly even try to cajole him into meeting up for drinks later, so he won't spend the evening alone, when a crazy thought enters my head.

Perhaps I can do something to lighten his mood. Something he'll remember for years to come, and who knows? It might even put a smile on his face.  
I can't let him getting beaten up be the only thing that happened on his birthday.

Arthur finishes his coffee, gathers up his belongings then bids me a good evening and leaves.

I start getting changed into my outfit.  
For tonight's party the customer has booked a 'sexy cop' which consists of tight trousers, low-cut shirt, hat and handcuffs.

But my mind is on other things, and I can't wait to get this job over with so I can put my skills to better use.

>>\------------------------------------>>

It's 10:30pm and I'm exiting the elevator in a run-down apartment building in downtown Gotham. 

The walls in the hallway are shabby, covered in cracking plaster and graffiti.  
My own little apartment on the other side of town is small but a palace compared to this place. 

It's dreadful that people have to live like this, in these dilapidated buildings, in a city overflowing with garbage.  
There's so little for anyone to look forward to.  
Unemployment is a huge problem and the cost of living is too high.  
The rising crime rate is a major issue, and there's been budget cuts right across the board.

Now I find myself outside apartment B33.  
Arthur's home.

I take a deep breath and knock the door then wait.  
Several minutes pass and then I hear the sound of the door being unlocked.

And then he's standing there, casual in loose sweatpants and a blue sweatshirt.  
His hair is damp and combed back off his face. He smells clean like scented soap as if he's just freshly showered.

There's a long awkward pause as he stares at me in disbelief, like he isn't convinced that I exist. 

Being brave I chance a small smile. "Hey Artie."

Dark brows draw together in confusion over those piercing green eyes. "(y/n)! What are you....what are you doing here?"

"I was just wondering if you fancied some company. And I wanted to check you were okay after what happened today."

"Um...." He rubs the back of his neck nervously. "Sure, that'd be great. But....I do live with my mom. I uh, I take care of her."

My heart melts. Though it does scupper my plan quite a lot.

"Aw, that's so sweet, Arthur. Not many guys would give up their active social lives to care for their mom."

He plays awkwardly with the sleeves of his sweater. "Yeah, I guess."

He's such a precious little bean. But I'm seriously starting to rethink my plan now. It doesn't seem appropriate.

"Well, I guess I should be heading home then, as long as you're okay. I don't want to impose--"

"No, you're not imposing. She's sleeping."

I look at him, unsure. "Yeah but I'd hate to disturb her."

He shakes his head. "You won't. She takes pills to help her sleep."

Hm. Maybe I could just go in and have a drink with him, and leave it at that.  
There's no harm in just having a drink.

Resignedly, I shrug. "Okay then. As long as you're sure."

He stands aside and holds the door open for me, a goofy grin now firmly in place. And it's so good seeing him smile.

"How did you know where I lived?"

"Detective work." I smirk. "I looked it up in Hoyt's staff book."

I step inside and make my way into the slightly cluttered living room.  
It's homely and has a warmth to it that's comfortable.

"Can I get you a drink?" He asks, following close behind.

"Already got it covered!" I say, producing a bottle of liquor from my purse. "All we need is two glasses."

"Coming right up." He beams, striding off into the kitchen.

I've never seen him look so animated before. There's a spring in his step and his smile practically lights up the room.

We sit down on the worn couch together and share a drink, me clinking my glass against his.

"Happy birthday, sweetie!" 

He blinks. "You...you remembered?"

I nod. "Yeah, that's why I'm really here. I couldn't let your day end on such a bum note."

"Wow." He blurts. "You really care about me?"

Taking a sip of my drink I give another little shrug.

He's making it sound so much more personal, which leads me to believe that he's lonely. Affection-starved maybe. Otherwise he wouldn't be looking at me so adoringly, like I've just given him the world.

"Sure I care. We're buddies, right?" I deliberately play it down and the light in his eyes seems to dim.

He's disappointed but he quickly recovers, forcing a tight smile.

"Y-yeah. Buddies. That's...that's nice."

We share the bottle of liquor until the bottle is drained. As we drink we chat, and the alcohol relaxes his nervous disposition. The conversation flows easily, there's no stilted silences or awkwardness. We learn more about each other, Arthur tells me about his dreams of wanting to pursue a career in standup comedy. I share my own dreams with him, and he encourages me to not give up.

"You'll be a star one day." He proclaims.

Yeah. I think he might be a little tipsy. As am I.

"That's kind of you, sweetie. But you've never even heard me sing." I giggle.

He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I have faith in you. I bet you're great."

"Arthur, I sing happy birthday to drunken old men practically every weekend. That's about all I get to sing in front of a captive audience."

Impulsively he reaches over and gently touches my arm. "But it won't be for the rest of your life. Don't give up on your dreams (y/n)."

His head is resting back against the couch, so I do the same so that I'm level with his eye line. 

"Thanks Arthur. That means a lot to me."

For the first time that evening a loaded silence settles over us. The room is quiet, and it's just me and him enjoying the tranquility of the moment, staring into each other's eyes.

Arthur suddenly coughs, clearing his throat. "Anyway....I bet you do the best rendition of happy birthday."

He chuckles softly and I laugh. "You wanna hear it? I can sing it quietly so I don't wake your mom."

"You'll sing it for me?" His eyes sparkle. "I'd love that."

"You would?" I bite my lip and smile secretively. "Well it's funny you should say that, because that's what I originally had in mind."

He raises his eyebrows. "You mean you planned to sing for me?"

"Yeah. I was going to do my whole routine. Thought it would cheer you up. But with your mom living here it didn't seem right somehow--"

"Wait, you were going to do your act? For...for me?" He sits forward, his eyes almost standing out from his head.

To my confusion I feel my face flush hot.

"It was going to be like a birthday surprise. Plus you'd have something to throw in Randall's annoying face when he gives you shit." 

He nods his head slightly, a slow smile creeping uncertainly across his lips. 

"What about your costume?" He asks.

"It's under here." I gesture to my trench coat, which I've kept fastened and belted at my waist, hiding my cringe-worthy outfit.

"You mean you're..." He swallows hard. "....you're wearing the full get-up and everything?" His eyes go to my coat, and his gaze is so heated it feels like he's stripping me bare.

"I am." My throat has gone incredibly dry, so I take another huge gulp of my drink before asking the question I already know the answer to. "You want me to do it? The whole kissogram thing?"

Without saying a word he gives a barely perceptible nod of the head, as he slips a cigarette from the pack.

Placing my glass down on the table, I stand in the middle of the room in front of the couch. There isn't much space, so I'm already pretty close to him.

I've changed out of the sexy cop outfit, and now I fleetingly wonder if I've made the right choice.

For Arthur I picked out the 'sexy nurse' costume.  
Schoolgirl and secretary didn't seem right, but with the nurse costume I thought I could try to make him laugh.  
After all, I did check his injuries earlier.  
Hopefully he'll see the funny side.

Arthur's just about to take a hit on his cigarette when I slip off my coat.  
He freezes, his hand poised mid-way to his mouth, which is literally hanging open.

"Ta-da!" I giggle, giving a little twirl.

"Oh my god." He exhales shakily. "(y/n) you look amazing."

Bashfully I thank him, then I begin singing 'Happy Birthday' in the sultry style of Marilyn Monroe.

"Happy birthday to you..." I slink forwards, tossing my (y/h/c) hair.

"....happy birthday...to you..." I run my hands over the outline of my body, tracing each curve provocatively.

Arthur's eyes are all pupil, as he follows each movement I make.

"....happy birthday, dear Arthur..." I stand directly in front of him, and ever so slowly pull down the zipper on the tiny faux-nurses dress.

The two sides come apart revealing my cleavage, the white lace basque underneath, and then the lacy panties and the tops of my white silk stockings.

".....happy birthday...to....you." I end the song with a little swivel of the hips, so the dress falls to the floor around my feet.

He's completely silent and unable to look away. I feel his eyes roving over my body, taking-in the swell of my breasts, the curve of my hips, and everything else in between. But unlike any of the sleazy guys I've done this routine for, with Arthur it feels totally different. I feel wired and strangely nervous.  
Excitement pulses through my veins, making me feel daring and sexy.  
I've never had a reaction like this before.  
He isn't a pervert like all the rest. He genuinely seems to...to want me.

"So Mister Fleck..or shall I call you birthday boy?" Resting a hand on my hip, I say in the most seductive tone I can muster, "I'm here to look after you. I know you got into a scrape earlier." 

The hint of a smile curls his lips. "I did."

Stepping out of the dress, I take him by surprise by boldly placing my hands on his shoulders, pushing him back so I can sit in his lap.

As I drape my arms around his neck he turns as red as a beet. His body goes tense, and the heat is just radiating off his body, as he becomes all hot and flustered.

"You gonna let nurse (y/n) kiss it better?" I jokingly flutter my eyelashes at him.

I hear the breath catch in his throat, and he's literally trembling. "Y-yea." He gasps.

Leaning in, I gently place a kiss on his cheek. "D'you feel better now, hm?"

"I do. Thanks to you." He smiles. "(y/n)....you're so beautiful. This is the best birthday I've ever had."

"Thank you, sweetie. I'm so glad."

Our faces are so close. There's something intoxicating about the way he seems so captivated by me. So in awe and mesmerised, that it gives me a sinful thrill. It makes me feel powerful and desirable.  
No man has ever looked at me with such hunger, such concentrated focus.  
Such need.

And I like it a lot.

His eyes drop to my lips briefly, before scaling back up my face. There's a questioning look in his gaze.  
He wants more.  
Without hesitation I answer the question with the simple action of tilting my head slightly, so that our lips are aligned.  
It comes as a complete shock to me, but I want more too.

He takes that as all the invitation he needs, and gently brushes his mouth against mine, ever so lightly at first. Then he does it again, and again. Ghosting my lips with teasing, soft, delicate kisses, as light as butterfly wings. 

I return the same playful, sensual, feathery kisses. He's breathing heavily, and all I hear is the frantic thudding of my heart in my ears as my pulse gathers speed.

His lips now become more demanding and the kisses deepen, turning from sugary sweetness to something more desperate, erotic and carnal.

We kiss and kiss like it's the end of the world. Like two lonely people who are starving, ravenous, for a connection. To feel wanted and desired.

I wind my hands through his wavy brown hair, tracing little circles on his scalp with the tips of my fingers.

He groans low in his throat, and the salacious sound has an overwhelming affect on me, making me quiver against him.

Precious, gentle, lovely Arthur is also excessively masculine it seems. His hands are strong, and he suddenly feels so dominant, powerful and in control, as he takes my face in his hands, holding me in place so he can explore my mouth, his hot, velvety tongue feverishly sliding against mine.

Finally we are forced to pull apart with ragged breath, desperately in need of air. We're also both processing what has just happened.

I gaze at him, feeling a bit dazed.  
His eyes are dark. His mop of hair is pleasingly tousled, his lips kiss-swollen and his face flushed.

He looks ludicrously handsome.  
He also looks like someone who has been well and truly kissed senseless.  
I know I have.

His breath is coming out in slow pants, and I'm fighting to steady my own breathing. So it takes enormous effort for me to say,

"Happy birthday, Arthur."


	27. The Birthday Boy (pt.2)

\--1st person POV--

I wake up the following morning with a thumping headache, most likely brought on by too much liquor and not enough sleep. 

But at least I'm in my own bed. Alone.  
Which is good.

I get up just to take some aspirin and drink a glass of water, then promptly return to my pit, wallowing in shame, wishing I could hibernate til spring. 

But obviously I can't because the bills won't pay themselves and all the sleep in the world won't help me with my personal crisis.

I drunkenly kissed my workmate last night.  
Someone who I actually cherish as a friend.   
Cherish even more than I realised, it would seem.  
Now I've probably ruined everything. I mean, how is Arthur going to be feeling about what we did now, in the sobering light of day?  
He was a little drunk too, so I wonder if he'll be regretting it?

Pulling the quilt over my head I groan, and try to will myself back to sleep.

Bizarrely it seems to work, and I wake so much later, headache-free at least, but I'm going to be late for work, so I have to speed-shower and do my makeup as quickly as I can.

While on the bus my thoughts keep returning to Arthur, and I wonder what sort of day he's had.   
I hope he's safe.  
Those little shits that gave him a kicking shouldn't get away with behaving so vile.  
Arthur is the gentlest person in the world and he doesn't deserve to be treated so brutally, yet the poor guy always seems to attract trouble.

I wish I could protect him. Shield him somehow from all the horrors life throws at him. He just seems so ill equipped to deal with the brutal reality of the world. 

Shit, I really shouldn't have kissed him though. It's so unprofessional mixing business with pleasure.

"I don't want you to leave." He'd said last night, despite him having begrudgingly called me a cab.

"I can't stay, Artie. What would your mom think? There's nothing worse than awkward introductions over breakfast."

He'd laughed at that, leaning against the elevator door. "You're funny (y/n). Funny and beautiful and smart. That's a rare combination."

"It can't be that rare." I told him with a grin. "Because you're all of those things too!"

He pulled a face, making me laugh. "I've been called many things but never beautiful. I don't know if I should be flattered or offended."

"Flattered of course! And you know what I mean." 

He took a step closer, lowering his head so we were almost nose to nose. "Do I?"

"Aha. You're handsome."

"You're drunk."

At that point the elevator door tried to close, then he'd stopped it with his shoulder, buying us some more time so he could kiss me goodbye.

It hadn't been a friendly peck either, but rather a full-on knee trembling kiss.

Oh dear.  
Admittedly I'm starting to feel a little panicky about what we may have inadvertently begun. Could it simply be labelled as a harmless, drunken makeout session?   
Would we have to talk about it? Because that's a conversation I don't think I'll ever be ready to have. But maybe if we do need to discuss things, then not doing it at work would be much easier.

When I arrive at Amusement Mile I find Gary, Randall, and the man himself, out front of HA-HA'S smoking.

"Hey (y/n)." Gary smiles as he sees me approaching. 

The other two men turn my way, and suddenly I find myself feeling a little flustered, coming face to face with Arthur in front of the others.  
I kissed that man, is all I can think. I kissed that man a lot.

"Sup' sweetcakes." Randall flashes me a lecherous smile that makes me want to gag.

Arthur bashfully meets my eyes, smiling shyly. "Hi (y/n)"

I plaster on a big fake smile and try to appear nonchalant. "Hey guys. Whatcha' all doing hanging around out here?"

"Talking." Randall answers, grinning mischievously. "But about you not to you."

Instinctively my eyes snap back to Arthur, and to my horror I feel my face grow hot.  
He wouldn't have said anything, would he? I would've thought Arthur of all people wouldn't be the kind of guy to kiss and tell.

"We weren't saying anything bad." Gary adds hurriedly. "It's just Hoyt wants a word with you before he leaves, that's all. And Randall being Randall was speculating what you might've done."

My stomach drops.  
I already have a feeling I know what this is about.

"Someone's been a naughty girl." Randall taunts. "It's not like you to be in trouble with the boss."

"Knock it off Randall." Arthur says, gallantly, to which Randall immediately retaliates.

"Hey you're the one who's usually in the shit with Hoyt. What's up Artie, are you jealous?"

I roll my eyes at Randall. "Leave him alone. And for your information I haven't done anything wrong. Sorry to disappoint but I haven't been a naughty girl." 

Arthur's eyes meet mine again and a secretive, knowing look passes between us, making my face grow unbearably hot.  
Damn. I'm blushing all over the place today.  
But I can't help it because his look suggests that he's got good reason to believe that I am in fact a very naughty girl, considering what the pair of us got up to.

"It'll be about my costume, that's all. I didn't come back here to return it last night after the gig."

"Why's that? You been using your outfits for personal use, huh?" Randall winks suggestively. "Who's the lucky guy I wonder."

"Randall, why don't you just--" I trail off as Arthur suddenly bursts out laughing.

He turns away, wrapping his arms over his face in a desperate bid to stifle his painful laughter.

"What the fuck has set you off now?" Randall demands, but all Arthur can do is shake his head hopelessly in response.

Feeling helpless all I can do is rub slow circles on Arthur's back in an attempt to soothe him.  
Shit. Randall's such a moron. A moron who for once hit the nail right on the head, and even though he's oblivious and just thinks he's teasing me, Arthur obviously knows that he's right. Which must've made him feel anxious, triggering his laughing fit.

"Are you okay, sweetie?" I ask with concern, once the laughter subsides.

He nods his head weakly, roughly wiping his watering eyes.

"Are you sure you're alright, Arthur?" Gary asks.

"Y-yeah I'm fine, honestly. Thanks."

Gary nods. "Alright then, well I'll be off now. See you all tomorrow."

"Not me you won't." I say with a grin. "It's my day off."

"It's alright for some." Gary chuckles, as he heads off.

"Well I guess I'd better get my ass in there and face the music." I sigh.

"Good luck sweetheart. You coming Artie?" Randall waits for Arthur expectantly.

Arthur hesitates, looking thoughtful. "Uh, I actually just remembered. I forgot my cigarettes."

Randall frowns. "How could you have forgot your smokes numbnuts, you just had one?"

Arthur's brows lift. He really is the worst convincing liar.

"Did I say cigarettes? I meant...uh, keys."

"Artie, you didn't forget your keys. I saw you put them in your pocket."

"No you didn't. They're not the keys I need. I've left them in my locker by mistake."

Shaking his head, clearly mystified, Randall turns and wanders away, having lost interest and patience. To him Arthur is eccentric at best. At worst he sees him as a complete wacko.

"Cigarettes and keys?" I say to Arthur as he pulls open the door for me. "Really? That's the best you could come up with?"

He shrugs. "I'm not very good at lying."

"No shit." I giggle, making my way up the stairs. "But more to the point, why were you making up excuses to come back in?"

....Silence...

"Arthur?"

Still no reply came.

"Arthur?" I spin around to see him loitering at the bottom of the steep staircase, gazing up at me.

"S-sorry (y/n)."

"Arthur were you just checking out my ass?" 

He bites his bottom lip, looking guilty as hell. But to my surprise he doesn't even bother trying to deny it.

"Y-yeah." 

He looks so innocent with his wide eyes, hands buried in his pockets, I have to forgive him. There's no way I can be mad at that adorable face.

Just then Hoyt comes out of his office, his annoying voice echoing down the stairwell. 

"That you (y/n)?" 

"Yes Hoyt. Coming."

"Who's that with you?"

"It's Arthur. He left his keys in his locker."

"Hm."

I head into Hoyt's office, leaving Arthur to his own devices.

"You wanted to see me?" 

Hoyt looks up from his desk. It looks as if he's getting ready to leave for the night, locking his small safety deposit box that he keeps all the cash and cheques in.

"Too right I do. Your nurse outfit is missing."

"No it's not. It's right here." I say with a measure of satisfaction, as I open my rucksack and pull it out.

Hoyt's beady eyes drag over the dress, scrutinising it. "You were booked as a sexy cop last night, right? So why the hell did you take the nurse outfit?"

I heave an exasperated sigh. "I had to wash it, obviously. The last party I did the old man spilled punch all over it. Still, I guess it was my own fault. I did nearly give him a seizure."

After a drawn-out pause he eventually nods, apparently satisfied with my explanation. Thank god.

"Okay, well just don't take any of the costumes home without letting me know first. You got that, (y/n)?"

"Got it."

He waves me away, letting me know that I'm dismissed. 

Out in the corridor I turn the corner and almost bump right into Arthur, who seems to have been anxiously hovering nearby.

"I take it you heard that? That sweetie, is what a convincing lie sounds like." I tell him with a smirk.

Arthur lowers his voice cautiously. "Impressive." But then his smile wavers slightly. "Wait, you wouldn't lie to me would you?"

I frown at him, feeling puzzled by the random question. "No, of course not. Why would I?"

He visibly sighs with relief. "Ah. That's okay then."

Walking into the changing room I set down my bag, pull the nurse costume out and give it a shake before hanging it in the closet where my outfits are kept..

We hear the door to Hoyt's office slam shut, followed by his footsteps reverberating off the walls as he descends the stairs.

I take out the schoolgirl outfit, pretending to be thoroughly focused on getting my costume together for tonight's gig. All the while I can feel Arthur's eyes burning into my back. Somehow I can sense his eagerness to talk, and I'm trying to delay the inevitable for as long as possible. But I suppose the sooner I face him the sooner it will be less awkward.

Surely nothing could be as awkward as it already is, so...

"I'm so glad we're finally alone." Arthur exclaims excitedly, the second I turn around to face him. "I thought Hoyt was never going to leave."

"Oh. Why is there something you want to talk about, sweetie?" I manage in my steadiest voice, hoping to come across as calm and cool.

Arthur's brow furrows in instant confusion. "Talk? Well yeah, I guess. But I just couldn't wait to spend some time alone with you."

Spend time alone with me?   
Oh lord no. Please no.   
I should've had the talk with him sooner. Last night actually, before I'd left his place.  
Better still I should've kept my lips to myself and not kissed him at all, then we wouldn't be in this mess.

As much as it pains me, I have to clear the air with him. What other choice do I have?

"Artie, sweetie....come here." Taking his hands in mine I lead him over to the bench and sit him down next to me. "About last night.....you know that it was just my silly way of trying to cheer you up, right?"

He looks deeply confused, but there's still the hint of a smile on his lips. "Well, yeah the whole kissogram routine. But the kiss--"

"I know, I shouldn't have kissed you. I'd had too much to drink, we both did, and I wasn't thinking clearly."

"You mean you only kissed me because you were drunk?"

Oh god that sounds awful, him saying it out loud like that.

"No. It wasn't like that. I just got caught up in the moment."

"But we did have a moment, didn't we?"

I sigh, letting my head fall into my hands. "Maybe, yes. I don't know."

He gets to his feet. He looks absolutely stricken, which makes me feel even more wretched.

"It's okay (y/n) I get it. You wouldn't want someone like me. Why would you?"

"Hey, don't say that. There's nothing wrong with you."

"Oh come on (y/n), there's plenty wrong with me."

"It isn't you." I insist. "It's me."

"You mean you'd have a problem with people knowing about us?"

"Us? No! Artie there just is no 'us'. Not like that anyway. We're just friends, that's all. Things got a bit out of hand last night but we need to draw a line under it and forget what happened. Otherwise it could ruin our friendship. Screw up our working relationship."

"How can I just forget about it?" He demands, the tone of his voice growing rough with his rising anger. "It was the best night of my life, the best birthday I ever had, and you want me to forget about it?"

I jump to my feet feeling panicked. I need to fix things somehow, before Arthur ends up despising me.

"Please, Arthur. I don't want this to come between us."

"That's funny (y/n). I thought you just said there is no us." With that he turns on his heel and heads for the door.

"Wait! You can't just leave."

He stops at the doorway, flinging his arms out wide. "Why not?"

"Because we need to sort this out." My voice comes out much more shrill than I would've liked, but I'm genuinely panicking now. 

Slipping a cigarette between his lips, he lights it and takes a long drag before saying, "There's nothing to sort out."

"Arthur, I don't want to lose you as a friend."

"Fine, whatever."

"No don't just say fine whatever. I need us to be okay."

He frowns, clearly irritated. "Why?"

I'm stumped now. There's nothing I can say that I haven't tried saying already. I don't want to lose him as a friend. He's not an idiot, in spite of his condition and quirkiness, Arthur's intelligent. So I know he understands what I'm trying to say, he's just struggling to accept it.

I stay silent for a heartbeat too long, and he growls under his breath then storms away, practically radiating anger.

I know I should go after him but I don't. That's because I'm an idiot and a coward. It's like I'm too afraid of getting close to someone, because I don't want to end up hurt and let down yet again. And Arthur, he's a decent guy. But I've gone and blown everything now. He most likely won't want to be friends with me.

I hear him kick the door open aggressively once he reaches the bottom of the stairs, and my eyes begin to burn with unshed tears.   
Hurrying over to the window, I look down and see Arthur walking away down the street. For a fleeting moment I consider opening the window and calling after him, but it's too late. He's already too far away to hear me.

>>\------------------------------------>>

The following day is my day off so there's no opportunity to see Arthur and try to resolve things.  
I'm still feeling terrible about it all and it's playing on my mind. So much so that I end up cleaning my small apartment from top to bottom, just to try and keep me distracted.

I hadn't intended to, but I inadvertently played with Arthur's feelings.  
I didn't realise the kiss meant so much to him.  
Okay, I have to stop beating myself up over this. Tomorrow I'll try talking to him again. He should've calmed down by then.

I didn't realise how much the apartment needed a good, thorough cleaning. It pretty much takes all day and by the time I finish I'm surprisingly tired, so I take a shower and change into my pyjama shorts and a baggy shirt.   
An early night could be just what I need.

I'm just in the middle of drying my hair when I think I hear a dull thudding noise, so I switch off my hairdryer and listen intently.

\-- silence --

Unconvinced, I make my way into the hall, trying to figure out where the noise had come from. I've never felt so on edge before, which is strange. The area I live in, Parkchester, is pretty safe, unlike a lot of places in downtown Gotham. My apartment building is small but secure. The neighbours aren't troublesome, there's never any antisocial behaviour.

I go to the door and look through the spy hole. Nothing. The landing is empty.   
For some reason I feel compelled to open the door, and what I see gives me the fright of my life.

"Jesus!"

A disheveled looking Arthur is slouched on the floor, leaning back against the wall outside my door, his knees drawn up to his chest.   
On the floor beside him I see his tatty old shopping bag, stuffed with clothes.  
He's wearing his clown outfit, all except for the wig, jacket and shoes.

Something is seriously wrong. Arthur doesn't make a habit of going home in his costume.  
Then again he isn't at home.  
He's here.

"Arthur, are you okay? What's wrong?" I step out into the hall so I can face him because he doesn't look up, or answer.

He's such a mess. His makeup is smeared and his nose is bloody.  
Oh hell.

Crouching down so I'm level with him, I gently take the tip of his chin in my hand and tilt his head to face me. "Arthur, what happened?" 

He gives a slow blink, his eyes sort of blank looking and staring off into space.   
I'm trying to keep calm and not panic, but he's really worrying me.  
What if he's seriously hurt?

"Arthur, sweetie, please. You're scaring me."

At last his eyes seem to snap into focus and he lifts his hand, placing it on mine which is still cupping his face.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He says in a low voice.

"Okay, well lets get you inside. Then you can tell me what happened." 

He nods slowly, taking the hand I hold out to him, to help him to his feet.

His clothes are filthy, I notice, as he makes his way inside. I pick up the bag with his clothes in and steer him into my bathroom.

"I'm going to take care of you, okay? Just give me a second."

Quickly I gather up some clean towels and a cloth, then raid my bathroom cabinet, searching for my first aid kit.

"Y-you don't have to go to all this trouble (y/n)."

I shake my head, "It's no trouble."

He's sat on the toilet seat and I fill the wash basin with warm, soapy water, and I'm experiencing the feeling of deja vu.

"Lets get that greasepaint off so I can take a proper look at you." 

I help him wash the makeup off, then take an alcohol swab from the kit.   
Poor Arthur. There's an angry welt on his left cheek, and dried blood on his top lip which must've come from his nose. 

"This is gonna sting sweetie, I'm sorry." I warn him, as I gently dab under his nose.

He flinches a little, but assures me he's okay. "Don't worry, do what you have to. I'm used to it now."

My hands are trembling. Possibly with nerves or anger, I'm not sure which, because I'm worried for him as well as furious on his behalf. Some bastard has obviously had a good go at him, and I'd love two minutes alone with whoever they are, just two.  
That's all I'd need, and they'd be wearing their balls as earrings once I'd finished with them.

"Who did this to you Artie?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it matters! This is the second time in the space of three days."

His eyes lock with mine, and they're so mournful it breaks my heart.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"What? Don't you dare apologise. I want to help you, it's not your fault!"

Once he's cleaned up I turn my attention to his clothing. 

"You can take a shower if you like, and I'll wash your clothes for you. I should have some spare...men's clothes...somewhere."

The quizzical eyebrow he raises doesn't escape my attention, like he's silently demanding further explanation, but I'm in no mood to go into any of that yet, least of all with him.

"Thanks (y/n). I really appreciate it."

I leave him so he can undress, only going back into the bathroom once he's decent. That is, he has a towel wrapped around his slinky waist, protecting his modesty.

"Did they hurt you anywhere else?" I ask, as he hands me his bundle of clothes.

His gaze lowers to the floor. "Just my back."

"Again? Jesus, Arthur. You took a kicking last time."

"I know." He says sadly.

"How many were there?"

He hesitates before answering. Considering his response carefully. "T-three. There was....three of them."

I sigh, feeling overwhelmingly sad for him, and so very angry. "Well this time we're calling the cops."

"No!"

The sudden raising of his voice makes me jump and he sees it, so naturally he apologises for his outburst.

"Shit, sorry (y/n). I just.....I'd rather not get the police involved. Please."

Not wanting to pester him after his ordeal, I begrudgingly agree to respect his wishes. There's nothing else I can do. I can't press charges on behalf of him when he doesn't even want to inform the police of the incident, no matter how infuriated I am with the injustice of it all.

Arthur's a dear, sweet man. It's so unfair.

I leave him to take a shower, busying myself with putting his clown outfit in to wash.  
I notice there's small splatters of blood on his yellow vest and his hobo pants, and I can't figure out how it got there. I mean, it can't be from his nose, surely.

Not knowing if he was wearing his colourful clown jacket at the time of the attack, I pull it out of his bag, intending to wash that too. But in doing so something heavy falls out onto the floor.

My eyes widen in disbelief.

It's a gun.

An actual gun.

What the actual fu-- is Arthur doing with a gun?!

Shaking, I hastily throw his clothes into the washing machine and stuff the gun back into his bag. I then go to my bedroom and rifle through my closet, knowing I still have some of my ex's clothes in there somewhere.

And all the while I'm thinking about that gun.   
Arthur's like, the most unlikeliest person to have a gun.   
But there was blood on his clothes. What if that blood wasn't his?  
Oh god. How well do I actually know him really?   
He doesn't seem like a violent person at all. But is he capable of seriously hurting someone?

Would he hurt me? No. I'm just being stupid.

I hear the bathroom door open, and Arthur steps out, freshly showered.  
I give him the clothes. He thanks me and disappears back inside to change.  
Trying to remain calm I go into the kitchen and make us both a coffee, so when he emerges soon after I hand him a cup, and we sit down on my couch.

"D'you feel any better now?" I ask him.

He drags his hands over his wet hair, pushing it back from his face, and just like that I'm reminded of how handsome he is. It throws me off balance a little, because I'm not drunk. Since when have I been attracted to Arthur? Shit. It must've sneaked up on me without me even noticing.

"I do. Thanks." He says softly, taking a sip of coffee.

"You don't have to keep thanking me, Artie. That's what friends do. They help each other out."

"Yeah. I...I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For coming here. I...I just didn't know where else to go."

Touched, I lean over and place my hand on his. He immediately responds by taking hold of it, squeezing it a little as if thankful for the contact.

"I'm glad you came here. How did you know where I lived?"

He smiles faintly. "I did what you did. Looked up your address in Hoyt's book."

We both laugh, and the atmosphere feels less tense. Arthur's still clinging on to my hand though, which tells me he finds it comforting. Maybe even calming.

"Can...can I stay here tonight?" He asks, his face turning pink. "I don't feel like I can face going home."

"Um, sure. I only have the one room here though. But you're welcome to sleep on the couch."

"Thank you." He breaths a sigh of relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing.

"Do you want anything to eat?"

He shakes his head. "Do you have any cigarettes?"

I nod, getting up to go fetch them from my purse.  
I'm more of a social smoker, only having the odd one occasionally. But I'm so stressed right now I think I could use one.

We both light up a cigarette, and drink our coffee in companionable silence.  
Once I've drunk my coffee I fetch Arthur a pillow and a blanket, then bid him goodnight.

Once I climb into bed I find it impossible to sleep. My head is buzzing. I have all these thoughts rattling in my mind that feel like ball bearings, and they're rolling around, crashing into each other. 

It's not that I feel unsafe having Arthur in my apartment, I just can't relax thinking about him in the living room, laying there with god knows what going through his own mind. Whatever he's been through must have affected him deeply, he was badly shaken up when I found him on my doorstep. And if I'm struggling to sleep then he must be too, considering he's the one who's had a traumatic experience.

Half an hour passes, so defeated, I throw the covers back and swing my legs out of bed.  
Knowing this probably isn't a good idea but I'm going to do it anyway, because I wouldn't be me if I didn't.

Pushing the living room door open my eyes squint as I try to focus in the darkness.  
Arthur's nothing more than a large bundle on my couch. Wrapped up in a blanket, curled up in the foetal position.  
My poor baby.

Wait...what?  
I shouldn't be thinking things like that.   
But man, he's so vulnerable I feel responsible for him. 

"Arthur....are you asleep?" I ask, which is a pretty dumb question.

"No." Comes the muffled answer, as he pulls the blanket from over his head.

Without saying a word I gesture for him to follow me.  
He does.

"What are you--" His words dissolve as soon as he enters my bedroom.

"I thought you might be having trouble sleeping." I explain, as I watch him step cautiously into the room.

Bless him he looks so out of his depth. He gazes around the room with wide eyes, looking genuinely bewildered, like he's slipped into some alternative dimension.

"But you....you only have one bed (y/n)." 

I giggle. "Thanks for pointing out the obvious, sweetie. It's okay...I won't bite, I don't snore and I promise not to steal all the covers. As long as you don't either."

He blinks in animated slow motion, as he processes what I'm suggesting.

"A-are you sure you don't mind?" He stammers. "After yesterday...I was a real jerk."

Climbing back into bed I pull back the covers for him. "Artie, lets not talk about yesterday. It doesn't matter now."

Arthur gingerly slides into bed beside me, his breathing a little ragged. "I want to talk about it though. I shouldn't have overreacted like that." 

"It's fine, honestly. I shouldn't have..." I don't know what to say.

I was about to say, I shouldn't have played with his feelings, even if it was unintentional, but what am I doing now? Sure I'm trying to comfort him, because I care about him, but will he see it as more than that? I could unwittingly be confusing him even more.

Arthur lays down and looks up at me. I'm still slightly propped against the pile of pillows at my headboard.

"I've never been in a girls room before." He confesses, and my heart pinches. "I've never slept with one either."

"Really? Well I feel privileged to be the first." I smile.

Oh shit. There's nothing wrong with sharing a bed with someone. It's all completely innocent. So I've no idea why my heart is suddenly beating like a tribal drum against my rib cage.

And yet I'm incapable of keeping my distance. No matter how platonic I keep telling myself this is, I can't resist the overwhelming urge to reach out and comfort him, but I'm blurring the lines by doing so. We already crossed a line on his birthday, and I'm stepping into uncharted territory again, even though I tried fooling myself by keeping him in the friend zone.

"Come." I say, scooting down a little and lifting my arm.

Arthur stares at me for the longest time, then eventually, very cautiously, moves closer in the bed, resting his head in the crook of my arm. 

"You're safe here, Artie." I feel compelled to tell him, as my fingers begin playing in the damp locks of his hair of their own accord.

He exhales a deep, long breath, his arm snaking around my middle so he's holding me tight.

"I had a bad day." He says, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"D'you want to tell me about it sweetie?" 

I hear him swallow roughly. "Hoyt fired me."

"What?" I cry, astonished. And if it wasn't for Arthur resting his head on me I probably would've leaped to my feet. "Artie, no! Why? You're an amazing clown. It makes no sense."

"Randall gave me a gun. He said I needed it to protect myself. It was tucked into my pants....it fell out while I was doing my act at the children's hospital."

"Oh my god." Is all I can say, as I digest all this dramatic information. And then, "Randall's a fucking idiot!"

I feel Arthur shaking slightly and at first I think he's crying, but then realise he's chuckling to himself. 

"You make me laugh (y/n). You're the only one who can do that."

My arm encircles him and I hold him tight against me. "Well I'm glad I can. After you left yesterday I was so worried that you hated me."

At that he lifts his head, his beautiful green eyes gazing up at me. "I don't hate you (y/n)." He says softly. "I could never hate you. I-I love you."

The breath sticks in my throat. I feel like a giant fist has a hold of my heart and is squeezing and squeezing it.

"Y-you mean as a friend, right?" I croak.

He's so close I can feel his warm breath on my face, his lips dangerously close to mine. My stomach is turning somersaults.

"I don't think so." The reply comes at last. His dark brows are creased slightly, as he concentrates, trying to find the right words. "I've never been with a girl, but I think what I'm feeling is real love."

"Oh, Artie--"

"(y/n) I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, I just want to be honest with you." He chances a nervous smile. "At least things won't be awkward at work. And I still want us to be friends. If that's okay with you? Can we--"

I silence him by pressing my lips to his. His body goes rigid with tension, and he moans softly, which completely undoes me.

And then he's kissing me back, one large hand sliding into my hair, the other cradling the side of my cheek.

I think I've officially lost my mind. 

But that seems to be the affect Arthur Fleck has on me.

And I'm not complaining.


	28. The Birthday Boy (pt.3)

\--1st person POV--

As I should've predicted, locking lips with Arthur, and in my bed no less, quickly begins to escalate into more. 

I was an idiot for thinking it wouldn't, as we inevitably get rather carried away.

At some point I find myself above him, as he lays flat on his back on the mattress.   
I've no idea how and when this transition took place, as I've lost all power of thought, most probably due to feeling as if I've been clubbed over the head by pure, unbridled lust.

I didn't know what my intentions were when I kissed him, or how I was expecting him to react, but now I'm terrified of coming to my senses in case I'm not able to face going through with what I've started.

"(y-y/n)" He moans, running his hand through my (h/c) hair and softly tugging on it. "You turn me on so much."

I drag my tongue up the length of his neck playfully, whispering against his skin. "I'm just getting started, sweetie."

"Holy shit." He gasps, as I start sucking roughly, slowly working to leave a mark on the sensitive skin below his earlobe.

His masculine groans seem to echo through the room, the pleasurable sounds making my skin feel blisteringly hot.  
My heart is racing as I press my hips into his, and his virile body writhes beneath me, growing increasingly responsive and needy.

Knowing how desperately he wants me, how much he wants this, and how my words and actions affect him, is driving me wild.

"Do you want me, Artie?" I purr, deliberately bringing my lips painfully close to his again, teasing myself as much as him in the process.

"More than anything." He exhales, before kissing me needingly.

"Mhm." I hum with gratification, as I kiss him back passionately.

My hands reach down in search of his, and I take hold of them firmly, pushing them beneath my baggy shirt. He breaks from the kiss with a ragged gasp, as I place his hands on my bare breasts, knowing he isn't bold enough to make the move on his own.

Then it's my turn to moan and gasp, as his curious fingers familiarise themselves with my body.

The room is lit only by the street lamp outside my window, but even in the subdued light I see his expression alter drastically, as if he's suddenly unsure.  
And it's enough to make me falter.

"Arthur." I say, a little haltingly. "What's on your mind, sweetie?" 

He blinks several times in rapid succession, putting me in mind of some skittish, beautiful, untamed creature that might bolt at any second if startled.

"Does...does this mean anything to you?"

"Huh?" 

His hands fall away apprehensively. "Does us...h-having sex mean anything to you?"

"Well, yeah. I suppose it does."

His dark brows lift tellingly, indicating that wasn't the answer he wanted. "You suppose? So, will it mean as much as it did with the last person you slept with?"

I frown at him, feeling my face begin to burn. "The last person I slept with was my ex, and it was a long time ago."

"How long exactly?"

Flustered, I struggle to get my words out. "I-I don't know. It was ages ago."

"Months?" He offers, pressing for a more satisfactory answer. "Years?"

"Almost a year. Why does it matter? I'm well over him, if that's what you're thinking."

"Were you with him long?"

"Arthur, what is it with all these questions all of a sudden?" I hardly recognise the shrill tone of my voice, but this awkward line of questioning is making me feel decidedly uncomfortable. "What's any of that got to do with us having sex?"

"I just want to know what it means in comparison to sleeping with him."

The tension in my shoulders softens slightly, and I smile down at him. "You don't even need to compare it to how it was with him."

"Why not? You must've loved him."

I shrug carelessly. "In the beginning. But certainly not towards the end."

"But you did still love him at least."

"Arthur...I really like you. I like you a lot. If I didn't then I wouldn't even consider sleeping with you."

He doesn't answer and the tense silence stretches on. The mood now having drastically altered. Arthur's apprehension has doused my fevered ardour pretty damn effectively, and talking about my ex hasn't exactly helped matters either.

Feeling awkward and a little foolish, I manoeuvre myself back onto the bed as delicately as possible. Not wanting to appear too abrupt.

"(y/n)....you don't have to-- I mean, we don't have to stop."

"Artie. It's fine, honestly. I shouldn't have-- I mean, I was getting a little too carried away."

My face feels like it's on fire. My cheeks are flaming, and I'm only glad that it's too dark in here for him to see it.

Scrambling to sit up, he leans forward and buries his face in his hands.   
It makes me feel terrible. Like some sort of desperate, sex-starved black widow, trying to lure naive victims into my web so I can have my wicked way with them, only to chew them up and spit them out afterwards. 

I know I'm probably overthinking everything. It could've been worse. Far worse.  
At least we didn't go so far as to actually do the deed without him giving voice to his concerns. I'm glad he stopped when he did.

I know the reasons why. Arthur is looking for something more.  
He's made that pretty clear, and I don't blame him.  
I'm not in the habit of trying to seduce my co-workers, but I can't tell him I love him if I'm unsure.   
In fact, I should've kept my lips to myself. How many more times am I going to let this happen? Inadvertently play with the poor guys' feelings.  
I'm not doing it deliberately. It's just, there's something so magnetic about this adorable man. This adorable man who's confessed he has feelings for me.  
Strong feelings. 

Love, to be exact.

His admission, his adorable, peculiar charms, his touch, affects me more deeply than I ever would've anticipated.

In all honesty I'm frightened as well as excited.   
But I'm confused, and I'm also too embarrassed to admit how much I feel.

"I..I'm sorry." He mumbles into his palms, letting out a deep sigh of frustration. "I'm an idiot. I know it shouldn't bother me but....having sex is kind of a weird thing for me. I've never been so emotionally attached before, and I guess I always thought that the other person would feel the same way about me."

Oh Christ. He's breaking my heart.

"That's not weird, sweetie." I reassure him. Gently placing a hand on the sharp curve of his shoulder blade, I squeeze and attempt to massage the tension from his rigid posture. "And it certainly doesn't make you an idiot."

He shakes his head. "I wish it didn't make me feel so anxious. I want you so much (y/n), you've no idea. But it also makes me feel kinda vulnerable...and it's like, my mind doesn't like that."

"Oh, Artie." Tugging him gently back, I pull him into a hug. "I get it, I totally get it."

He caves against me as I wrap my arms around him in a tight embrace.

"It's a big deal. Sleeping with somebody for the first time. You have to be ready, and if it doesn't feel right then it's okay. Don't worry about it."

"You're not mad at me?"

"What? No. Don't be silly. In fact..." I grin inanely as I rest my chin on top of his head, burying my face in his soft curls. "....I wouldn't sleep with you now even if you said you wanted to."

"Why? I thought you weren't mad?"

"I'm not. It's because I know you're not ready. There's no shame in it. I only respect you all the more for your honesty."

"But what if...what if I feel differently about it tomorrow? Maybe it's just because I've had a shitty day, and I'm being too emotional about it all."

"Arthur, you're right...you have had a shitty day. You need to try and get some sleep."

"But...I still want you." He whines, in the same tone as a sulking child, which makes me giggle in spite of the awkward circumstances. "Perhaps I shouldn't because I know there's no us. I just can't help it though."

"Hey, look at me, sweetie."

He raises his head to look at me, almost bumping my nose with his forehead. "Hm?"

Leaning forwards I plant a kiss squarely on his lips, taking him completely by surprise.  
I've most definitely lost my mind.

"Stop worrying. There is an 'us'. Whether I like it or not."

"There is?"

"Yes. Now, please try to get some rest sweetie. We can talk more tomorrow."

>>\------------------------------------------<<

The following day I wake pretty late to Arthur bringing me breakfast in bed.   
He's prepared toast with jam, a fresh pot of coffee, and orange juice, which he brings in on a tray; even having very sweetly included flowers.   
Flowers which I recognise from a neighbours window box downstairs, which makes me bray with laughter because I'm a terrible person.   
Terrible because I should feel bad for the lady who's going to come home to find her carnations missing, but as she's such a grouchy cow, I don't feel bad at all.

And the thought of Arthur going to all the effort to pick them touches me deeply. He's even improvised and used an empty jam jar as a vase, seeing as I don't own one.

We'd fallen asleep in each other's arms last night, which was a surprisingly emotional experience. The intimacy which previously terrified me no longer seems to be such a big issue. His loving attentiveness having chased all of my reservations and doubts away.

"You're spoiling me, Artie." I grin, as he sits down beside me and gives me an affectionate peck on the cheek.

"You deserve to be spoiled (y/n)." He beams, his beautiful smile rivalling the brightness of the sun that's streaming in through the tilted blinds. His brow wrinkles slightly, as a sudden thought occurs to him. "It isn't too much is it?"

"Not at all. It's very thoughtful of you. You're such a sweetheart. Thank you!"

We sit in companionable silence; me eating, Arthur smoking, while we watch the tiny portable TV that sits on a shelf situated at the foot of my bed.

The news reporter is talking about a triple murder which occurred on the subway last night. All three young men were employees of Wayne Enterprises, and I can't help thinking that if they were regular poor people employed by anybody else, it wouldn't be getting half as much coverage.

As photographs of the men flash up on the screen, I shake my head and sigh.

"It just goes to show, you're not safe anywhere these days. Gotham's getting worse and worse."

"They were awful." Arthur blurts, exhaling a spiralling plume of smoke. "They got what they fucking deserved."

Shocked by the hostility of his remark, as it's so out of character, I stare at him. "What? Did you know them?"

"N-no. But I met them this one time. They...they were bullies."

"Seriously?"

He nods, face turning a little pink. "Seriously. They stole my bag from me and wouldn't give it back. Then they...they started beating on me."

"Oh, Artie." Moving the tray aside so I can give him a comforting hug, I hold him tightly. Suddenly having lost my appetite. "What a bunch of pricks!"

"Yeah."

"When did that happen?"

He pauses for a moment, floundering for an answer. "Oh, uh, not..not that long ago."

Without meaning to, I clumsily joke. "Are you sure you didn't shoot them? I mean, I wouldn't blame you if you did shoot those morons."

"W-why would you think that?" He stutters, his grip tightening around me perceptibly.

"Well for one, they were shot on the same line you take to get home from the kids hospital, and two...you have a gun." I laugh, amused at the thought. "And this guy in the clown mask that was apparently seen running away, maybe the witness just thought it was a mask, when it could've been makeup."

To my unsettling astonishment, he doesn't deny it.   
Doesn't laugh along with me, or call me a dumbass for suggesting such a thing even in jest.

He says nothing. Just clings to me like I'm the last lifejacket aboard a sinking ship.  
And it's then that my stomach begins to sink.

What if...? What if my joke isn't actually a joke at all?  
What if I've just inadvertently stumbled upon the truth?  
That would at least explain the shaken-up, bloodied state he was in last night.

And Arthur sucks at lying.

But after what he's just told me about the dead Wall Street guys, I can't in all honestly say that I would blame him for having taken such drastic measures.  
After all, who am I to really judge? Given that I could so easily be driven to the same extremes in Arthur's situation.  
He gets beaten up on a regular basis. Everyone has their snapping point.  
So if he is responsible then, well I certainly won't be turning him in to the police.

Am I a little chilled by it? Yes.  
Will it change how I feel about Arthur? No.

And in that moment, I'm more shaken by the realisation of how deeply I feel for him, than I am over the possibility of him having committed murder.

"(y/n)." He says at last, interrupting my shambolic thoughts, his breath stirring my hair. "A-about that--"

"You know what, fuck 'em!" I cut him off, in the hopes of saving him the discomfort of having to confess. "If that's the kind of people they were, then the guy who shot them probably did us all a favour. They won't be picking on anyone else now."

Pulling back so he can study my face, Arthur's eyes widen in surprise. "You mean you don't think the guy who did it...is a monster, like what they're saying?" He nods towards the TV.

"No, because obviously they don't know what they were really like." I explain, with a wary smile. "I know such acts of violence shouldn't be condoned, but there's always extenuating circumstances. In fact, to be brutally honest Arthur, I'd probably shoot them myself for hurting you."

I hear the breath catch in his throat. "You would?"

"Yeah." I giggle. "I'm tired of all these assholes bullying you. It breaks my heart every time some punk lays their fucking hands on you. I swear, it makes me so angry..." Seeing his expression of disbelief, I hurriedly try to regain some composure. "...well, you get the idea, so...lets just forget about it. They're not worth thinking about now. Okay?"

"O-okay (y/n)."

>>\----------------------------------------<<

To my dismay I have to go into work a little earlier today, as tonight's gig is booked for some swanky party being held at one of Gotham's most prestigious hotels.   
Arthur needs to go and clear out his work locker so it makes sense us both taking the bus together to Amusement Mile.

We walk from the bus stop to where HA-HA'S is situated along the main drag, Arthur nervously claiming my hand in his.  
I suspect that he half expects me to reject him, but I don't. To pull away would be self-sabotage, as well as hurting him needlessly. I can't keep denying the way he makes me feel inside. Whether he's a murderer or not.

The late October air is bracing, but the sun has been shining all day.   
If there were trees then the birds would be chirping. The world suddenly feels so dreamlike, magical even, and surreal. It's a bit like slipping into a surprisingly wonderful dream that I never want to wake from.....except it's really happening.

Arthur Fleck loves me, and everything else just seems to dissipate, leaving only us.

No one has ever made me feel the way I'm feeling right now, and my intuition is telling me that no one else ever could.  
I've been such an absolute fool. An utterly blinkered idiot, for overthinking this when there was really no need.  
For letting my doubts creep-in and hold me back.  
He's so fucking precious, I should consider myself extremely lucky to have won the heart of such a beautiful man, not waste any more time wallowing in denial, throwing his affections away. 

Of course there are sides to him I still don't completely know, and many parts of him I don't quite understand but it doesn't matter.  
It is those blank spaces that make me want to be closer, and what makes me feel so comfortable around him.  
Above all else, I accept him for who he is, and whatever he has done.  
Which can lead me to only one conclusion.

I've fallen for Arthur in a big way.

When we walk into the changing room at HA-HA's the place is packed, everyone having arrived at the end of their working day. Some are still getting changed back into their regular clothes, others are enjoying a coffee before they head off home, giving the worst of the traffic chance to quieten down.

Immediately people begin heckling Arthur about him being dressed in his clown pants and jacket...

"Hey Arthur, we know it's Halloween but you're gonna scare the shit out of kids if you go trick or treating without your face paint."

"D'you forget you don't work here no more? What's with the clown get-up?"

"Man, you need to get down to Arkham and see about getting those loose screws of yours tightened."

Bristling, Arthur takes out his keys and opens his locker door, but says nothing.  
Perhaps he'd being the bigger man, but I don't have to be.  
I've had it with these asshats laughing at his expense.  
Especially Randall, who's annoying face laughs tauntingly in the reflection of the glass in the vanity mirror.

"Actually, he's dressed like that because he hasn't been home yet." I proclaim, once the laughter dies down enough for me to be heard. "And him not working means he'll have more free time for me now."

Any residual laughter dissolves instantaneously, and I can't help smirking with satisfaction.

My words cause Arthur to start in surprise, and he bumps his head on the roof of his locker. But for once nobody laughs.

"Hey, careful big guy." I coo, walking to his side where I tentatively kiss the top of his head. "If you get a headache don't think you can use that as an excuse for not ravishing me again later."

By now Arthur's face has turned a startling shade of puce, and his eyes goggle at me comically.

"No shit!" Des, the male stripper exclaims, pointing a finger at Arthur. "Check it out guys, the dude even has a hickey!"

"This is bullshit!" Randall pipes up, getting up to walk over to where we're standing. Just so he can inspect the lovebite more clearly for himself.

"The only bullshit here is coming out of your mouth, as usual." I retort, scathingly. "They had to find out about us sooner or later, right baby?" I smile encouragingly at Arthur, who looks as if he's praying for a sudden earthquake to help defer all the unwanted attention away from himself.

"R-right." He says in a small voice, spurred-on by my boldly clasping hold of his hand.

Randall gapes openly at us, his jaw almost touching the floor, unable to believe his eyes and ears. "You mean the two of you are--? What? Dating? You can't be serious, I mean, it's gotta be a joke, right?"

"No, we're deadly serious, Randall." I insist, enjoying the way his mouth is hanging open like a beached fish. "It's not a joke. Why would it be? Arthur's an amazing guy."

"The only joke here is you." Arthur hurls at him for good measure, before stuffing the remainder of his belongings into his coloured shopping bag.

"You mean to tell me you're...screwing HIM? But he's...he's such a flake!" Randall yells, pointing rudely at Arthur. "(y/n) you need a real man to satisfy your needs, and since fucking when have you two been a thing?"

"Since my birthday." Arthur replies curtly. "And you know what? (y/n)'s the best gift any man could ever ask for. So I can see why you'd be jealous."

Randall's eyes seem to pop out from his head, and I can't refrain from laughing gleefully at his expense.

"And for your information Randall, Arthur definitely satisfies my needs. He's all man. Just ask my my neighbours...they all know his name now. Not that it's any of your damn business, you perv." I add, just to rub salt into the wound.

As Randall stands motionless, a gasping, sputtering, shocked shell of a man, Gary steps around him with comedic timing. Grinning from ear to ear. 

"I'm sorry about you losing your job, mate." He tells Arthur, his tone unarguably sincere. "But I'm glad you two got together at last. I always knew you'd make a great couple."

"Awe, thanks Gary." I smile at him. "We'll be sure to invite you to the wedding."

"Wedding?" Randall parrots, looking more and more perplexed with each passing moment.

Gary chuckles. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Gary..." Swooping down suddenly, Arthur sweetly presses a kiss to the top of Gary's head. "You were the only one apart from (y/n) that was ever nice to me. Thank you. I've never been happier."

"I'll walk you out, baby." I tell Arthur, who's now also grinning like the proverbial Cheshire Cat.

"See ya later, fellas." He chirps over his shoulder animatedly, a noticeable spring in his step as we head out of the room and back down the stairs.

"Baby?" He raises an eyebrow questioningly, and it's then my turn to blush.

"Sorry."

"No, don't be. I actually kinda like it."

The cold rush of air hits us as as I push the door open and we step outside, cooling my burning cheeks.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you back there, Artie. I just couldn't help myself."

"No, it was hilarious. Did you see Randall's face?" He laughs almost maniacally, clearly affected by the giddiness of it all. "But you're going to get a lot of hassle when you go back up. You know that, right?"

I shrug disinterestedly, leaning back against the cool, rough brick wall. "They can try. But I'm not ashamed."

"I am a little."

"What?"

"I mean...because we haven't actually, you know, s-slept together."

"Technically we have slept together." I point out.

He chuckles, but his smile vanishes as he tries to be serious. "You know what I mean (y/n). We didn't have sex."

"So? It doesn't matter. There's no rush, Artie. Stop worrying."

He takes a step closer, reaching out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear.   
I swallow, meeting his eyes with some difficulty. The sun is setting, bathing him in warm, rich tones, so I can only see the outline of his silhouette against the autumnal backdrop of the early evening sky.

"You're amazing. Nobody's ever stuck up for me the way that you do."

"I'm not amazing. Why wouldn't I stick up for you? I really can't stand them poking fun at you like that. I never could."

"Because we're buddies, right?" He says, smiling softly. His large hand lingers close to my face, as he delicately traces the curve of my jaw with his fingers.

I don't know if I mistake what he says for something else entirely, thinking perhaps that he's still unsure of the recent shift in the dynamic of our friendship, as if the hand-holding and kissing wasn't enough to convince him of that fact already.

"No, not just because of that." I say, starting to feel exasperated by him misunderstanding what I'm trying to say. "It's because I love you, dumbass."

The thumb ghosting my chin stills, and I hear him suck-in a sharp intake of breath. "What?"

I pull away from him abruptly, and turn my face away. Realising what I've just unwittingly admitted to. 

"Shit. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."

Arthur swallows hard, and it's several furious heartbeats later when he finally manages to croak, "Did you not mean it?" 

"Of course I fucking meant it--!"

"Then why...why shouldn't you have said it?" 

Taking hold of my face in his large hands, he gently forces me to look at him. 

"Because...I didn't intend to confess my feelings to you, okay? Not when it's all so sudden and new." I heave a deep sigh, wondering how I could've blurted such a monumental thing so soon. "I don't want to hurt you again, sweetie." I tell him, honestly.

"It hurt me more thinking you didn't feel anything for me."

His strong arms envelop me, pulling me into his chest, and my body obediently melts into his.

"I'm a bit of a coward, Artie. Feelings like this, they scare me. Because I don't want to wind up getting hurt either." I confess, my eyes drifting shut as he runs his fingers through the lengths of my (h/c) hair.

"Oh (y/n)." The lulling tone of his sensuously soft voice is more spellbinding than ever in this moment, making my body feel more heavy. More languid. "I would never hurt you. I fucking adore you. How I feel about you is the only thing in my life that makes any sense."

I feel the low rumble of his voice through his chest, and it makes me shiver in spite of the masculine warmth of his sinewy body. His words, his embrace, make my breath race, and my heart race faster.

Shit. How could I have been so terribly, stupidly blind?  
Arthur's been the perfect guy all along, and I was just too cowardly to admit it to myself.

"(y/n)..." He says, sounding somewhat hesitant. "There's something I need to tell you. It's...it's about those three guys. The ones who were killed, on the subway--"

"I know." I say, covering his mouth with my hand. "I know it was you, Arthur. It's okay. I won't tell anyone. And I...I think I understand."

His eyes grow bigger, almost doubling in size.

They're so strikingly pretty, it steals my breath away.   
And as I gaze up at him, with his messy brown curls, beautiful eyes, and the wide, joyful smile that's adorning his handsome features when I move my hand away, I feel truly blessed to have this man in my life.  
Even if he has committed a serious crime. That doesn't seem to signify.  
What he did he must've done out of desperation. Nothing more.  
It's not like he's twisted in the mind and did it just for shits and giggles.

"I swear, I would never hurt you in any way (y/n)." He promises, hugging me fiercely, and my hands ache with holding onto him so tight.

"I know you wouldn't. I trust you."

"And you're sure it doesn't bother you?" His voice wobbles with emotion, his emerald orbs glistening with tears.

"Arthur, I accept you for all that you are...and all that you've done." Pressing my hands to either side of his face, I lower his head so that it's level with my own. "And that's because I love you."

Through his shirt, I feel his heart pounding a frantic rhythm.   
A thankful, thrilled laugh bubbles up from deep in his chest, and then all at once he throws me backwards in his arms.   
I let out a squeal of surprise as he dips me low, so that's he's leaning above me, like the leading man does with his leading lady in those old black and white movies.

And then he's kissing me deeply. A full-on, messy, romantic, tongue and teeth and lips kiss, that makes my heart bounce around like a ping-pong ball.

"I love you so much. Will you call a cab once you've finished at the hotel?" He asks, breathing heavily. "I'll pay for it. I want you to be safe."

"Arthur, you don't have to do that."

"I want to."

"So uh, does that mean I'll be seeing you later then?"

His eyes hold mine in a way that turns my legs to jello. The look in them is so suggestive. So hungered, and filled with ravishment.

"(y/n), you can see as much of me later as you'd like."

"Oh really?" I giggle, as he noses my neck, before taking my earlobe between his teeth and nibbling on it gently. "Mhm...Sounds fun. And uh, what did you have in mind?"

He bites his bottom lip teasingly. "I want to satisfy your needs. And I ain't gonna stop until all of your neighbours do know my name."

My throat clenches at the thought, and I swallow roughly. "O-oh."

And I can't say anything more even if I want to, because I already can't think straight after him just saying that.

And then I can't speak because he's kissing me again.

And I never ever want him to stop.


	29. The Birthday Boy (pt.4)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Considering what's about to go down for Arthur I figured I'd switch things up a little and include his POV.
> 
> ⚠️ This chapter contains lots of feels, a teensy bit of angst, and heavy NSFW towards the end.
> 
> Enjoy! 🤡

\--3rd person POV; includes Arthur's perspective--

"Happy, is that you?" His mother's voice rang out the second he stepped foot into the hall.

"Yeah ma." He responded wearily. "Who else would it be?"

"You didn't come home last night."

Arthur felt a stab of guilt at her statement. Even though his mother was still capable of getting herself from room to room, and fixing cereal or toast for herself, he still felt wretched for having left her to her own devices all night, without a word.  
He was her care provider after all. She depended on him.

"Yeah, sorry about that mom. It's because I--"

"Shouldn't you be working?" She interrupted, as he entered the living room sheepishly.

"Oh, yeah. About that." He took a seat in his usual spot on the couch, and looked at her solemnly. "I...well, I...I took some time off." 

Her thin eyebrows drew together in bewilderment. "You took some time off?"

Fuck. Now he felt even more of a screw-up, having to lie to her.  
But if he told her the truth then she'd only worry about money, and he didn't want that. Perhaps if he could buy himself a little time then he could find work someplace else.

"Y-yeah. I need time to work on my jokes and stuff." He brightened, remembering he was booked-in for open mic night at Pogo's. "Oh, and I'll be doing my first routine next week at a comedy club downtown. How about that? Pretty neat huh?"

"Hm." She murmured, disinterestedly. "Did you check the mail before you came up?"

His smile faded, the brightness within him dimming as a result of her lack-lustre response.

Fucking Thomas Wayne.

He was all she seemed to live for. Actually, who was he kidding? This wasn't living, this was simply existing, but the centre of his mother's existence always had been, and always would be, Thomas Wayne.

"I checked the mail." He sighed, feeling suddenly deflated. "Nothing, as usual."

She sighed heavily, her bony shoulders slumping with disappointment. "He mustn't be getting my letters."

Arthur hated seeing his mother torturing herself like this.  
He was tempted to tell her that she was labouring under a misapprehension, that the likes of Thomas Wayne wouldn't be interested in a past employees' letters.  
Her obsession wasn't healthy, it had taken over her life, but he feared that if he tried to drum it into her it would break her heart. Without her obsession, what else did she have to live for?

"He's a busy man, mom. He's running for mayor. He probably doesn't have time right now."

"He'll make a wonderful mayor." She smiled wistfully, her eyes growing misty. "Everyone says so."

"Everyone who? I doubt that everybody thinks so."

"Anyone that matters does. The people on the news do."

Arthur really didn't want to go over this again. This conversation was getting old, and he had other things on his mind right now.  
Money; or lack thereof, was one of them.  
But even that was put on a back-burner, as thoughts of (y/n) took precedence over everything else. Even the incident on the subway the previous night seemed insignificant in comparison.

He smiled to himself, considering her beautiful face, her gentle smile, the way she'd touched him, held him, and kissed him so tenderly.  
She'd even understood his reasons for shooting those bastards who'd attacked him, and that meant more to him than she would ever realise. Sharing that dark secret with her was one less weight lifted from his shoulders, and she hadn't judged him.

"Mom..." He leaned forwards, sitting on the edge of the couch. "I didn't come home last night because....I met a girl."

His mother's gaze was focused solely on the television screen, but she eventually turned to glance at him, a slightly incredulous look on her face.

"Where would you meet a girl?"

Her tone was challenging as well as disbelieving, and it filled him with intense irritation; making him feel defensive as well as hurt.

"I met her at work. I've known her a while, we were friends." He explained, somehow managing to maintain his patience. "She's amazing, mom. I think you'll like her. I love her."

To his vexation she turned back towards the television, huffing a little. 

"You don't know what love is, happy. You're too young to know."

Arthur scowled, his temper spiking. 

If it wasn't for (y/n) I wouldn't, he wanted to say. Because you've never shown me any kind of love, or warmth.

His jaw tightened and he bit his lip, forcing his anger down; not allowing himself to vent his frustrations. 

"I'm thirty three years old, mom, I'm hardly too young." He said instead, his voice low and simmering with malice. "I know how I feel, I do love her. And she loves me."

"Are you sure about that?" She enquired, raising a cynical eyebrow. "What about your laughing?"

"She knows about my condition, and yes I'm sure. She told me!" He snapped.

"Don't yell at me." Her voice quivered slightly, making him feel bad.

"I wasn't yelling. Sorry."

He rose and went into the kitchen, reaching for the little orange bottle of pills.  
There was so many. Seven different medications to be exact, and none of them ever made him feel less anxious, less depressed, or more lucid. They didn't help him sleep, or feel relaxed. 

(y/n) made him feel all of those things though. He couldn't remember having slept so soundly than he had falling asleep in her arms; the warmth of her body making him feel safe, comfortable, and wanted.

She wanted him. Truly wanted him, in every sense of the word.

The contented smile returned to his face as he took himself off into the bathroom to take a shower. It remained firmly in place as he washed, shaved, and got dressed. 

He put on his dark burgundy suit, with matching vest and tie.  
He wanted to look as smart as possible for (y/n). Perhaps if she finished her gig early enough then they could go out for something to eat afterwards.  
Money was problematic, but he wanted to do something nice for her. To show her he wanted to court her, not just get her into bed. 

Arthur had always been a bit of an old fashioned romantic at heart, and now finally he would be able to treat his new lover with all the respect, care, and attention she so rightly deserved.

"Listen mom, I'm uh...I'm not going to be home tonight, okay?" 

Penny looked up from the oatmeal she was eating, and eyed him dubiously.

"Where is it you're going?"

"(y/n)'s place. She has an apartment over in Bedford Park."

"Do you have to stay all night?" She questioned, between spoonfuls. "What about Murray?"

Arthur sighed, patting his pockets in search of his cigarette lighter. "Isn't that what you do when you're dating someone, stay over? I'll set the video recorder to tape Murray."

"Don't forget to mail my letter before you leave. I hope he gets this one. I'm sure the mailman is throwing them away."

Feeling guilty for leaving her again overnight, Arthur had an idea which he thought might placate her, and relieve his guilt a little.

He flicked the ash from his cigarette into the ashtray, then took another long drag on it; exhaling the smoke slowly as he spoke. "Tell you what, tomorrow I'll take it down there myself and leave it for him. He must have a secretary or something."

His mother paused, the spoon mid-way to her mouth. "No happy, you need to give it to Thomas. Don't leave it with some assistant, you can't trust them. The letter is important."

"Okay ma. I'll do my best." 

>>\------------------------------->>

Taking the bus into the city, Arthur found himself daydreaming about (y/n) and all the things they could do together. Long walks in the park, afternoon picnics, evenings spent at Pogo's, Saturday trips to the movies, and so on.  
He leaned his head against the window; still smiling contentedly to himself.  
He didn't know what he'd done to deserve (y/n), but he thanked whatever Gods he could think of, despite not being particularly religious, for her having come into his life.

Why him of all people? He really couldn't wrap his head around that. There were other men that worked at HA-HA'S. Des, the male stripper, was a handsome, well-built guy who had more than his fair share of female admirers. And yet (y/n) had scarcely ever looked twice at him. It could be argued that Des simply wasn't her type, but Arthur struggled to accept that he himself was. Unless her type was skinny, shy men in their thirties.

When he finally reached Gotham Square, it didn't take him long to locate the Plaza hotel.

On a whim he'd decided to surprise (y/n) as she came out, rather than wait at home for a phone call. He'd wrestled with the idea all evening, worrying that it betrayed his eagerness to be with her, and he feared she might find it off-putting. 

But in the end his feelings had won. He loved the very bones of her, and wanted to keep her safe. Even though she promised to take a taxi, Arthur couldn't rid himself of the thought of some upper-class businessman harassing her. Pressing his luck, and trying to force her into giving him more than just a simple kiss on the cheek.

Arthur himself had been an exception to (y/n)'s rule, which he knew must've made him special. No kissing on the lips was her strict policy, up until her having kissed him on his birthday. She hadn't been working of course, but the way they'd been kissing, really kissing, had shocked him and thrown him off-balance.

She had wanted to kiss him. Him, not any other guy she'd performed birthday greetings for. To say it was unexpected would be a monumental understatement.  
But the thought of some drunken client trying to force her into doing the same, or even worse, made bile rise at the back of his throat.

Staring up in awe at the impressive structure of the grand building in front of him, Arthur felt momentarily saddened. It saddened him to know that he would never be able to afford spending the night with (y/n) in a luxurious hotel such as this.  
The Plaza was the most prestigious hotel in town; frequented by Gotham's most elite members of society. It was used for important functions, had expensive tea rooms and a restaurant that served dishes which cost more than Arthur's suit had.

Just then a voice interrupted his thoughts, and Arthur turned quickly to see the impeccably dressed doorman looking at him expectantly.

"Can I help you sir?"

Arthur quickly did a double take, looking behind him to ensure the man was specifically addressing him.

"Oh, uh, I...I'm just waiting for someone. My...girlfriend." He grinned, his chest swelling with pride. It felt overwhelmingly good being able to say it.. "She's working here tonight."

"Is the lady in question a member of staff?" 

"No, she's an entertainer. There's a party here tonight. She should be finished anytime now."

The doorman cracked a smile and nodded knowingly. "Ah yes, the Wayne's function."

Arthur blinked.  
The Wayne's were here? Surely this could be an opportunity to deliver his mother's letter.

"Perhaps sir would care to wait inside? There's a comfortable waiting area in the lobby." 

"Really?" Arthur couldn't believe his luck. "I-I yeah, sure. Thanks."

The man pulled the door for him and he stepped inside, smiling gratefully.

The interior decor was exquisite; all soft lighting and polished marbled floors. The waiting area consisted of opulent armchairs and a chaise' lounge, as well as a mahogany coffee table; complete with a solid marble ashtray which sat atop it.

He took a seat, sinking into the plush fabric, and pulled out his pack of cigarettes. His hands were shaking slightly due to the excitement he felt.

As he waited and smoked he watched diligently; noticing the way guests at the party seemed to wander between rooms. They appeared to be in high spirits; some had glasses in their hands, other's cigarettes. 

A night manager sat behind the reception desk, and two security guards stood in position by each door. That could be problematic, Arthur reasoned, as they'd seen him come in and sit down, which meant he obviously wasn't a party guest. 

Still, he decided to chance his luck.  
Finishing his smoke, he stood and straightened his tie; thankful that he'd chosen to wear a suit. 

As he made his way towards what appeared to be the main function room, the security guard held up a hand; blocking his entrance.

"Sir, are you on the guest list?" He asked.

Shit.

"I'm with the entertainment." Arthur replied, trying to sound confident.

The guard raised a sceptical eyebrow. "The entertainment is over. I'm afraid you'll have to wait here." 

The entertainment was over? 

Arthur opened his mouth to speak again, just as the door swung open with perfect timing, and (y/n) came out.

"Arthur!" She exclaimed, her brow furrowing in surprised confusion, but her beautiful lips stretched into a broad smile. "What are you doing here? Wow. Look at you, you look...amazing!"

"I came to meet you." He beamed, all thoughts of Thomas Wayne temporarily forgotten. "I didn't want you travelling alone so late. Plus I thought maybe we could get something to eat."

Linking her arm through his, she led him towards the desk. "Oh, that's so thoughtful of you sweetie, I have had a little something but--"

"Oh, you've already eaten?"

"Only one or two canapés and a lobster vol-au-vent." She rolled her eyes. "I was ready to leave like, half an hour ago, but Mister Wayne insisted I stay and have a drink. I tried caviar too, and d'you know what? It was disgusting. You gotta laugh right, their food is basically just expensive shit."

She giggled but Arthur suddenly halted in his tracks, which compelled her to fall silent.

"You okay, sweetie?"

"You had drinks with Thomas Wayne?"

(y/n) shook her head. "No not Thomas, it was Dale Wayne. Apparently he's some cousin of his, and they're business associates."

"Oh. Was Thomas Wayne there?" 

"No. I don't think this kind of party is his thing. It isn't formal enough you see. Kissograms aren't exactly a classy form of entertainment."

"Don't say that. You're classier than anyone here." Arthur gently cupped her face, running his thumb over her bottom lip. "You don't let the men touch you, and you only kiss the client once on the cheek. Not like those so-called exotic dancers."

"Oh yeah, and where have you been watching exotic dancers, hm?"

Arthur's face grew pink. "I haven't, I j-just heard some of the guys at wok talk about it. I've never--"

"Oh sweetie, relax I'm just teasing you." She placed a finger against his lips. "And as for being classy...this get-up is hardly classy."

Unfolding her trench coat, she flashed the blouse which was part of her 'sexy secretary' outfit. The top few buttons were deliberately unbuttoned; exposing a fair amount of cleavage. The sight made Arthur's blush deepen from pink to red, as heat coursed through his veins.

He couldn't form the words for an appropriate response, as his brain seemed to cease functioning. 

"So, do you wanna get something to eat?" (y/n) asked, smiling up at him fondly.

Arthur shrugged. His mind now suddenly racing, as if it had reset itself and gone into overdrive.

"I don't know. You've already had something, so there's no point going if you're not hungry. And you'd have to keep your coat on the whole time."

She surprised him then by threading her arms around his neck, her gaze never leaving his face.

"It's November, leaving the coat on isn't a problem. This outfit wasn't exactly designed for warmth. And yeah I've eaten a little, but you need to eat too. Besides you're all dressed up, I'd hate for it to be for nothing."

"It's hardly for nothing." He smiled, gazing down at her. "It's all for you."

He saw the affect his proclamation had on her. Instantly her (e/c) eyes seemed to twinkle with happiness, and darken with desire. They became misty; as if she were about to cry, whilst simultaneously flashing with heat and passion.

"Shit. I love you Arthur Fleck." Straining upwards she placed a soft kiss to the delicate skin just below his earlobe, and smiled as she felt him tremble. "If you haven't eaten then we're going for food. But if you have...then maybe we could skip dinner. I quite fancy moving straight on to dessert."

Arthur caught on to her suggestiveness, but wasn't confident enough to trust his naive instincts. Was she definitely implying she wanted to go back to her apartment and have sex? It would be wrong of him to assume so, regardless of how much he wanted it.  
He was at a loss. He'd never done this before. It was all so new to him.

"Uh, when you say dessert...? Does that mean-- I mean, is that--?"

"I mean you, sweetie." She clarified, playfully nuzzling her nose into his neck. "You are my dessert." 

"Ah, o-kay." He swallowed roughly, despite there being no saliva left in his mouth. His tongue almost got stuck to his teeth. "I just wanted to be sure."

"So, have you eaten?"

His large hands slid from her back down to her hips, and gave a gentle squeeze. "I'm...hungry for you, (y/n)." He declared, surprising himself.

"Ooh, Arthur. Look, you're making me blush!" She fanned her flushed cheeks with her hands; wafting in an attempt to cool herself down. "Well in that case....taxi?"

"Sounds good to me." 

As (y/n) ordered a cab, Arthur's attention fleetingly drifted back to his mother, and the promise he'd made her. His fingers delved into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out the small envelope. His mom's neat handwriting stared tauntingly back at him; flooding him with guilt once more.

His green eyes slid over to the main function room door, as all the while he idly played with the letter.

"Cab will be here in ten. Everything alright, Artie?" Her eyes came to rest inquisitively on the letter he was toying with. "What's that?"

"It's uh, a letter for Thomas Wayne."

"Thomas Wayne?"

"Yeah, I promised my mother I'd deliver it. She says it's really important. D'you think that maybe....maybe his cousin would pass it on to him? That is, if I can get passed the guy on the door."

(y/n) chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "I guess its worth a try. But I doubt security will let you in, sweetie."

Arthur nodded resignedly. "Yeah I guess you're right."

"But I could give it to Dale." She offered, kindly. "I'm pretty sure they'll let me back in. I'll say I forgot something."

"You would do that? Do you think he'll do it though? Pass it on to Thomas?"

She smiled in a way that disturbed Arthur a little. It looked forced, and could easily be likened to a grimace.

"Oh I'm certain he will. He was, uh, shall we say, very friendly. Perhaps a little too friendly if you catch my drift. But hey...I can maybe use that to our advantage."

Arthur's brows creased into a worried frown. "Did he try to flirt with you?"

She waved her hand dismissively then held it out to take the letter from him. "It's okay, don't worry I'm used to dealing with men like that. I can handle him."

Arthur contemplated her words carefully, his mind flooding with unsavoury scenarios involving his beloved (y/n) and a rich, powerful man like Dale Wayne.  
He was obviously a typical sleazy businessman, who had the dangerous potential to abuse his position of power. He could be the kind of man who's wealth and sense of entitlement led him to believe consent wasn't necessarily needed. 

Arthur shuddered at the thought of (y/n) being cornered by such a viper. He didn't doubt she was capable of handling herself but...he didn't want her having to cozy up to such a man, just to ensure he'd pass the letter onto his cousin.  
Worst still, what if Dale expected something in return for the favour?

"No." Arthur blurted, tucking the letter back into his pocket. "It's okay. I'll take it down to Wayne's office building myself tomorrow."

She frowned in confusion. "Are you sure? I don't mind--"

"I mind." He shook his head. "You already have to deal with sleazeballs like that as part of your job. I don't want you having to put up with another just 'cause my mom wants some dumb letter passing on to Thomas Wayne."

Her heart melted all over again.  
His protectiveness was deeply touching. Bordering on possessive but it made her feel cared about. His consideration almost moved her to tears.  
No man had ever cared for her in such a way before, and it was alien to her but refreshing. Once again, Arthur had proven himself to be a caring, attentive partner.  
One who was worthy of her time and affections.  
The kind who she'd been holding out for for the past year. The kind she'd never truly believed she would find.

"You, Arthur Fleck, are frickin' adorable!" She grinned, pulling him in for a hug.

As they made their way to her apartment, Arthur stole glances at her from the side of his eyes. She sat beside him on the back seat of the cab; the scent of her perfume filling his nostrils.

She was so beautiful, he still couldn't believe that she was his. And soon they would reach their destination, and then he could make her his completely. The thought terrified him and thrilled him in equal measures.

They sat in comfortable silence, but both knew it was just a matter of time before they arrived at (y/n)'s apartment, and the unresolved sexual tension between them was already palpable.

When they reached her apartment she made coffee, which they sat and drank together on her couch.

(y/n) chatted away easily, and nobody would've suspected that she was secretly feeling a little nervous.

Why now? She wondered. Last night she had been more than prepared to take Arthur's virginity, and yet all of a sudden she found herself feeling nervous on his behalf. She would need to be patient with him, and reassuring.

Arthur's own mind was now focused on nothing else.

In the cab he'd still been thinking about the letter and how he'd opted to pass up an opportunity to do something for his mother.  
But the way he saw it was; his mother simply wasn't worth it.  
What had she ever done for him? She took no interest in his life, and had completely disregarded him when he'd tried to talk to her about (y/n).

Well, why should (y/n) suffer the humiliation of Dale Wayne's flirtations on behalf of his mother; who'd never done anything to show that she cared for him?

(y/n) cared about him. She had proved it. She loved him.  
There would've been a time when he wouldn't have known what to do with such love. But now he was prepared.

She wanted him. He wanted her. It was just a question of who made the first move and when. God knows, Arthur had been patient; due to nerves as well as not wanting to ruin the moment by being too eager, but holy shit he couldn't handle the allure of sexual promise any longer.

(y/n) had said she would take a shower once she'd finished her coffee, but she didn't get to finish the hot beverage. Arthur all at once found it impossible to contain his feelings, his desires, his emotions. Considering she'd taken her coat off and was sitting in her revealing outfit, he was amazed he'd been able to keep his hands off her for as long as he already had.

"Mhm, A-Arthur-!" She squealed, surprised but delighted.

He was suddenly all over her; his body, his hands, his mouth.

He'd never been the one to initiate a passionate kiss before so it was awkward, obviously inexperienced, but it made her pulse race nonetheless.  
His lips slid across hers and their noses bumped, making (y/n) giggle.

"S-sorry I--"

She silenced him by bringing their lips together again; hers parting as she teased him into a response, and after a moment he was kissing her with confidence again, as if he'd been doing it for years. 

His lips were so warm and firm as they caressed her own, the tip of his tongue teasing, making her want more. She held onto him tightly; encouraging him to keep kissing her.

It was so easy to lose herself in him. To surrender all conscious thought to sensation. When they kissed it felt as if the world stopped spinning, and reality ceased to exist.

(y/n) slipped her arms around him and drew him even closer; pulling him down with her as she lay back. Unlike Arthur's tiny couch, hers was long and wide, and offered plenty of room for them to lay down facing each other; their heads resting on a cushion.

His heart thumped in his chest and a slight tremble ran through his body as she began to unfasten the buttons on his vest. 

Things were moving fast and it wasn't exactly how he'd imagined it would be, but he ran with it regardless; caught up in the heady snare of lust.

Once his vest was open she ran her hands over the silky fabric of his shirt, before slipping them beneath it so she could stroke his back. He pulled her against him as they shuffled their legs around until they found a comfortable position; with one of his knees between hers. 

His obvious erection nudged her hip, and a groan rumbled up from his chest.  
Desire rushed through her, and she responded just as eagerly; not even attempting to stifle a low moan.

It had been a long time since (y/n) had wanted a man like this, and in truth she'd spent many nights wide awake in bed since the end of her disastrous relationship; alone and missing the warmth and comfort that only a strong embrace could provide.

She pulled her lips from his to suck in a breath when she felt his large hand cup her breast. Damn, she longed to be in bed with him, without several layers of clothing separating them, but the heat of the moment was too sensually alluring. Making it impossible for her to barely move, let alone suggest relocating to her room.

"Shit, Arthur." She breathed, as he lowered his face to kiss the side of her neck, then make his way down over her collarbone, until he reached the swell of her breast.

He groaned in response, as his groin came into contact with the centre of her body, and instinct compelled him to rock his lower body against hers.  
With a slight movement of her hips, she slid her leg up over his and held him tighter, so that he was pressed against her in just the right place.  
He continued to buck gently, rubbing their groins together and emitting soft grunts of pleasure. 

Arthur was so immersed in the sensations; revelling in the exquisite friction, he found himself struggling to think clearly. He ought to stop this now, otherwise he might lose control. But instead he found himself grasping her butt so that he could hold her flush to him, as they continued to grind against each other lustfully.

That was until (y/n) couldn't take it anymore.

She pulled back, and Arthur looked down; his hooded eyes watching with joy and disbelief, as she fumbled his pants undone, at last.

"(y-y/n)..." He exhaled unsteadily, as she freed his erection. "God, you turn me on so much."

"Mhm, you turn me on too." She whispered seductively. "I'm so wet for you, Artie."

"F-fuck."

She covered his mouth with hers; her lips crushing his against his teeth, swallowing his moans as she stroked him with firm, quick pulls. 

She wanted to take him in her mouth, to taste him, to pull him on top of her...

But suddenly his body shuddered to a halt....as he came in her hand.

Utterly mortified, Arthur wrenched away from her in a panic. "Dammit. I'm so sorry, (y/n)." He muttered. "I didn't mean to—I got carried away. Shit! I'm an idiot. This is so fucking embarrassing--"

"Hey, hey. Artie, don't worry. It's okay to get carried away. It's perfectly natural. Don't beat yourself up over it." She stroked her free hand over his hair. "You liked it, right?"

Reluctantly he raised his eyes to meet hers. "Y-yeah. I liked it too much, unfortunately."

Laughing, she kissed him gently, then leaned over to grab some tissues from the box of Kleenex that was conveniently sitting on the coffee table.

She wiped her hand, as Arthur hastily cleaned himself up, before hurriedly stuffing his waning length back into his pants in shame.

"I'm pathetic." He grumbled, resting his head in his hands.

"No you're not, don't say that!" She reprimanded, taking his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. "You're perfect! Do you hear me?"

"I didn't want to be a disappointment to you."

"Arthur, you're not. You could never disappoint me." She insisted, reassuringly. "And the night is still young yet."

His smile slowly returned as he visibly brightened at the prospect.

"Listen, I'm going to take that shower. Make yourself at home. I won't be long." She paused at the door, turning back to look at him. "You are staying over, right?"

"If you still want me to."

(y/n) raised a suggestive eyebrow. "Of course I still want you to, baby."

Baby.

The new pet name excited him beyond belief. It was endearing and sweet, yet sexy as well. She had a way of saying it that made his blood stir. He wanted to hear her say it again, and again. He wanted her to cry out; calling him baby with a ragged gasp as he pleasured her.

It occurred to him then that he hadn't done anything to pleasure her. To sate her own desires. He'd been too caught up in his own lust to even think clearly, let alone act.  
But now he was determined to, at the very least, return the sexual favour she'd afforded him.

He headed straight to her bedroom and quickly undressed; his hands shaking with barely contained anticipation as he folded his clothes neatly over a chair.  
Then he slid beneath the covers, and waited impatiently for the sound of the shower turning off.

(y/n) entered the room fifteen minutes later; wearing nothing but a towel and a smile.

She stood for a moment, processing the sight of Arthur sitting up comfortably, looking relaxed and perfectly at home in her bed. He was smoking a cigarette; the ashtray beside him still containing the butts of the ones he'd smoked that morning whilst sitting beside her.

All the unpleasant memories that had lingered here of her ex were suddenly forgotten. Replaced with Arthur's gentle presence, as if he'd always been there. As if he belonged there. It gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling inside, that made her feel happy, and strangely at peace.

No sooner had she sat on the edge of the bed; towel-drying her (h/c) hair when her new beau suddenly sprang into action, putting her in mind of a big cat that had been waiting for the right moment to pounce.

"Artie!" She giggled. "My, aren't you an eager boy."

"I have the most beautiful girl in the world, why wouldn't I be?"

Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm as he pulled her to him. Her breathing quickened, and her breasts heaved with each breath.  
Arthur seemed fascinated by them; his gaze fixed as he slowly moved his hand upwards and loosened her towel.

He breathed out rapidly, then sucked in another gulp of air. "God, you're so fucking beautiful (y/n)."

Her heart swelled with joy at the compliment; stretching her kissable lips into a wide smile. "You're not so bad yourself, sweetie."

Arthur blushed, and refrained from disagreeing with her.  
At least she had seen him shirtless before, so that was one less thing to fret about. He wouldn't have to worry that she might recoil in horror at the sight of his protruding ribs.

"Can I--?" 

She followed his gaze downwards, and nodded. Allowing him to slowly tug each side of the towel apart.

He swallowed hard as his wide eyes raked over the vision in front of him. Her (s/c) skin looked so soft, so tempting. All he wanted was to acquaint himself with every velvety inch of her body, to see if she felt as exquisite as she looked. Which she no doubt did. 

She felt her face heat up as the heaviness of his inquisitive gaze settled on her.  
His pulse rocketed, his breathing becoming laboured as he gazed at her in unabashed awe. She was fully exposed and on display to him; her vulnerability, shamefully turning her on even more.

He hungered for her. It was evident in his eyes, his uneven breaths.  
And now he was pushing back the sheets so he could lay beside her, revealing the fact that he was starkly naked.

Holy shit, he was so damn sexy. His slight body, his thinness, wasn't off-putting. Arthur was still every inch all man, and the thought amused her how Randall would turn green with envy if he saw the impressive size of his former workmates' manhood.

"I've...I've never done this before, obviously." Arthur spoke, bringing her back to the present moment. "All I know is what I've seen in movies...not those types of movies, I couldn't watch them with my mom in the apartment." He clarified quickly. "Just regular movies, so....you'll have to tell me how you like to be touched, or show me."

She smiled and combed a hand through his brown curls."Relax, sweetie. Touch me however you like. Just do what feels right. I'll stop you if I don't like it."

"You promise?"

"Promise."

Arthur stared at (y/n) for a long moment, then lifted his hand and ran his fingers lightly down her arm from shoulder to wrist. 

She tore her gaze away from his face and watched his hand instead.  
He paused, before brushing his fingertips over her hip, around her waist, across her stomach and ribs. 

Goosebumps broke out on her skin and a shiver ran down her spine.  
Even though he wasn't touching her intimately; watching and feeling him explore so carefully was incredibly arousing. She had full view of his hand as she watched his fingers slide lower, and she was the one to release a shaky breath as he brushed over the most sensitive part of her.

"Is this...okay--?"

"Oh, god! That's perfect, Arthur."

He grinned, watching her eyes flutter shut; her pretty little mouth falling open slightly as a result of his intimate ministrations.

Having her eyes closed immediately heightened the sense of touch.  
Arthur's gentle exploration became more confident when he discovered, from her squirming and gasping, what felt good. 

Holy hell.  
(y/n) had had several lovers, but none of them had concentrated so determinedly on giving her pleasure; without a care for their own. 

Driven by instinct, he took her breast in his warm mouth; swirling his tongue over her nipple, whilst his fingers continued to play her sex like a finely tuned instrument.

"God, Arthur!"

She felt him move, slowly bringing himself closer. Her eyes flew open to find him inches away, studying her face, until their lips met. His kiss was sweet and gentle, his lips caressing hers delicately. 

But as the tension tightened between her thighs, she pressed more firmly against his mouth to encourage him to deepen the kiss. He hummed with pleasure as he kissed her more heatedly, and his fingers worked faster. Her pulse quickened further, and she felt the kiss everywhere; her body tingling with euphoric excitement.

She cried out his name as she came; her climax more intense and pleasurable than she'd ever known.

"You're amazing," She panted.

He didn't bother to object, in spite of his inability to take compliments well. Instead he pulled her beneath him, and lowered himself onto her.

(y/n) instinctively slid her legs apart a little to accommodate him, and he pressed between them. 

She held him close, her hands resting at the bottom of his back. "Are you sure you want this, sweetie? I want you to be certain. We don't have to if you don't feel ready."

"I'm sure, (y/n). I want to. I'm more than ready." He paused briefly, before adding, "um, will you...do it? Please. I don't know how."

"My sweet baby." She craned her neck upwards in order to gently kiss him. "Of course, whatever makes you comfortable."

Arthur lifted himself just enough for her to reach down between their bodies and guide him. With a slight tilt upwards of the hips, she felt him slide smoothly inside, and the breath backed-up in her throat.

They moaned at the same time, Arthur gasping and shivering as she pulled her knees up more.

"I-I'm not hurting you am I?"

"Not at all, baby." 

Inflamed, he began to move, slowly and awkwardly at first; every muscle and tendon in his body tensing and flexing with each uncoordinated movement.

"I love it when you call me baby." 

He hadn't meant to confess that, but his mind was now a swirling haze of fractured thoughts and feelings; all of which became overpowered by the most intense physical pleasure he had ever experienced.

"Mhm, is that so?" She moved with him, which prompted Arthur into thrusting harder; his pace quickening as he raced towards orgasm. "Baby...tell me I'm yours."

"Oh God, (y/n)....you are mine. You're mine. You're-all-fucking-mine!" He chanted, his lips pressing against her throat.

He felt desire clench in the pit of his stomach; each nerve rippling with ecstasy, and he fought it hard, but the maddening need for release was defeating his determination to make it last.

"Arthur! Oh, baby you feel so good." (y/n) cried.

Her hands on his back slipped on his sweat-slicked skin. He felt so incredible.  
He filled her just right; hot and hard, desperate and wild. She lifted her legs; crossing them behind his waist, enabling him to bury himself deep.

"(y/n)...I'm going to...I'm going to come!"

"Aah, so am I baby!" She panted.

He pressed his face into her neck, moaning out her name.  
He didn't move again. His body shuddered and he came, pulsing inside her.

He felt like he was internally exploding in a shattering burst of emotions and sensations. 

So this was how it felt to be connected to another, emotionally and physically.  
Damn, nothing on earth could have prepared him for it. For the beauty and vulnerability, and intensity of it all. 

He didn't think he'd ever recover, and he wanted more already. The sense of rightness, of being so close in every sense of the word, was addicting and soul nourishing.  
He felt complete. At peace. Wanted and needed.

(y/n)'s hot, racing breath fanned across his chest, and his coherency returned.  
He duly noted he was still hard, so in spite of his exhaustion he managed to summon enough energy required to perform a series of slow, determined thrusts.

Grinning with satisfaction, he watched her as she reached her own euphoric peak; her expression one of pure, unadulterated bliss.

(y/n) writhed and shook beneath him as waves of absolute pleasure crashed through her, turning her limbs butter-soft.

"On my God, Arthur. That was...that was perfect." 

"I wouldn't go that far." He chuckled, as he lifted himself from her and rolled onto his back. "I'm sure your other lovers were much better."

"No. Experienced, maybe. Considerate? Definitely not. You are amazing, Sweetie."

"You're the amazing one, (y/n). I never imagined I could have someone like you in my life, even as a friend, much less like this."

Scooting over in the bed, she snuggled into his side, resting her head on his chest.  
She could hear the rapid pounding of his heart; yet to calm after their erotic exertion.

"I'm just me, Artie. I'm nothing special."

"Are you kidding me? (y/n) you might not realise it, but you're incredible."

"Shut up!" She giggled, playfully poking him in the ribs.

"You are! I'm so glad that I got jumped on my birthday, otherwise none of this would've happened. This isn't the sort of thing that happens to me in real life."

"Well it is happening, and...." She paused, considering her next words carefully. "...I don't want to lose you, Artie. Not now."

Beneath her he shifted, lifting his head curiously to look down at her. "Why would you lose me? (y/n) I love you. I'm not going anywhere."

"No, you're not." She replied, decisively. "That's why....I told the police we were together last night."

Arthur stilled. His heart felt like it had momentarily ceased beating, and he was fully alert now. All residual affects from their lovemaking dispersed. The sweet, tingling aftershocks that had been pulsing through him, making his body feel wired yet heavy with sleep, vanished abruptly.

The police?  
She'd spoken to the police, and...and covered for him?

"W-what are,you saying? (y/n), why would you do that?"

He scrambled up on his elbows, his eyes wide with shock as he took in her oddly calm expression.

"They came by the shop not long after you left. They talked to some of the guys. They were questioning the ones who work as clowns. Randall must've mentioned you to them because they asked about our relationship."

"What did you say?"

She lifted her head, meeting his intense green eyes. "I told them we've been an item since your birthday, and that you were with me all evening last night. All the guys know we're dating, so they can corroborate the fact and it isn't a lie." 

"But....but it is a lie that we were together. What if you get in trouble? They could find out the truth!"

The truth. 

The grisly truth that he hadn't been with (y/n) all evening. That it had indeed been him who'd killed those guys on the subway.  
That whilst she was here, innocently going about her business, he had shot a man point blank in the head. The other one twice in the chest, before chasing the third one down and shooting him three times in the back.

He had done that, and he couldn't believe she was willing to provide him with an alibi.  
Christ, he didn't deserve such loyalty. But he would gladly accept it all the same.

"How are they to know?" She assured him with a confident smile. "I was home all day, so nobody can disprove it. Please don't worry, sweetie. You're safe."

A gentle smile curled Arthur's lips. He stared at her in wonder, as he wound his wiry arms around her and held her tight.

"I-I don't know what to say. I don't deserve you, my beautiful girl."

(y/n) pressed a lingering kiss to his soft lips.

"Oh yes you do, my sexy Scorpio."

They shared a brief laugh, then cuddled up beneath the covers. A soothing calmness settling over Arthur once more, as he held her tight; his warm embrace making her feel secure and restful.

And as they drifted into a peaceful slumber, both of them felt safe in the belief that everything was going to be alright, and would be, as long as they had each other.

End


	30. Arthur In Wonderland (pt.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Imagine: So, this was a request and I'm going to try and summarise this as best I can...When Joker is involved in an accident he wakes to find himself in a Gotham he doesn't recognise. What he DOES recognise however, is another Joker, a FEMALE one. Let's just say things are gonna get kinda freaky ⚠️ so be prepared for lots of smuttiness! I'll try my hardest to rise to the challenge of bringing this imaginative idea to life!

\--3rd person POV--

Since the rise of Joker, Arthur's life had become one of trepidation, danger and constant excitement. 

He had inadvertently started a movement and gained a following. His very own army of clowns to command. 

Obviously he was wanted by the authorities, so a large portion of his time was spent avoiding the police and running from them. Thankfully he was quite a fast runner, and rather resourceful when it came to outwitting them and escaping capture, always managing somehow to slip through their fingers in the nick of time.

But then one day his luck ran out.

Perhaps it was inevitable that sooner or later he'd come unstuck. Surely you could only dodge bullets and race through speeding traffic so many times before eventually getting shot or run over.

Well, technically he didn't get run over. What actually happened was something that had happened to him before.  
He was hit by a car.  
But unlike the last time he didn't bounce off the vehicle like a ping-pong ball, still managing to get to his feet and flee.  
No. This time he was thrown into the air like a human rag doll, landing in a damaged heap on the asphalt.

It all happened so quickly he completely lost the ability to think or even register what was happening to him. Each detail playing out in broken fragments as if he was observing himself from a distance. Like an outer-body experience, except for the physical pain.

The sound of a horn, screeching tyres on the road, and then impact.  
The force in which he collided with the hood knocked all of the air out of his lungs.  
He felt a searing pain in his head, and then....nothing.  
Just blackness and silence, like hurtling headlong into an abyss of terrifying nothingness.

* * *

When his eyes bleared open it took him several long minutes to remember exactly what had happened, and he had to piece it together bit by bit.

He'd been running from the cops. 

Then a car had hit him.

Or maybe he'd run into the car.

Cautiously he lifted a hand to his head, half expecting to find the top of his skull missing, or at the very least feel some significant damage. A gaping wound.  
But there was nothing. Not even any blood.

He was even further surprised when he found he was able to sit up without experiencing any form of pain whatsoever.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Having now established that he was still in one piece, Arthur now felt able to turn his attention to his surroundings.  
The bed he was lay in was large, unfeasibly large, like the bed of a King.  
The sheets were delicate red satin, the pillowcases green, as if it had been specifically designed with him in mind. His own bed at home was nowhere near as elaborate as this. It was basic, shabby even, with a mattress that had seen better days, a stray spring that stubbornly refused to stay in place, jabbing him uncomfortably in the back whenever he rolled over.

This one was soft, exquisitely comfortable, and even had a canopy around it. Lush red drapes hung down around him in soft folds on each side, drawn closed, thus providing him with maximum privacy.

Intrigued, he slipped out from the sheets and was fleetingly startled to find himself naked save for his white briefs.  
Well, at least his underwear was the same. They were the only thing that he recognised and seemed to make any sense.

He reached out a slightly trembling hand and pulled back one of the curtains.  
Okay, so he had thought the bed alone was something pretty special, but the elegant splendour of the room rendered him temporarily immobile.

There was a decorative white fireplace on the far wall, with a vase of pretty white flowers placed in the centre of the mantle. Above it hung a large gold-framed mirror, and antique armchairs were arranged at different angles around the room.

Now this was the sort of extravagance Arthur could grow accustomed to. Indeed, he'd often daydreamed about designing such a bedroom for himself once he'd acquired enough money -- all ill-gotten gains from bank heists and such -- then he would purchase a gothic Manor House and furnish the interior in such a style. Turning it into a Joker palace. A befitting residence for the Clown Prince of Crime.

Just then a sudden movement in the corner of his vision caught his attention. He turned and started in surprise, seeing one of his clown goons standing over in a far corner of the room.  
Well, it certainly looked like one of his goons. The plastic clown mask was unmistakable, but his attire wasn't the typical kind. Rather than more conventional, casual clothes, he wore a black suit, complete with black shirt and tie, like some sort of smooth-looking gangster. 

"Hey," Arthur spoke up, feeling more than just a little awkward standing there in his skimpy underwear. "Where am I, man?"

Two dark eyes regarded him coldly through the eye-holes of the mask, making Arthur feel somewhat uneasy. He was used to his followers being more receptive and approachable, responding to him with more enthusiasm, always eager to offer him assistance in any way they could.  
But this guy? Arthur could sense the hostility radiating from him, as if he resented his very existence.  
Perhaps it was the underwear. It was a bit outdated. And he'd never had to suffer the humiliation of coming face-to-face with one of his gang members whilst being so alarmingly underdressed. This was the stuff bad dreams were made of, the sort of dreams which had plagued him as a child.

"Stay here!" The man spoke gruffly, before turning and heading for the door.

Arthur scowled, incensed by the goons lack of civility. He'd never been spoken to like that by one of his followers, and who the fuck was he to bark commands at him like the master of some unruly dog?

But the man had left the room before he'd thought of an adequate response. It was often the way that he'd think of some scathing remark after the event, when it was too late. Still, he figured the guy would return soon, and once he did then he'd reproach him for his uncalled-for rudeness.

Ordinarily Arthur wouldn't have obeyed and stayed put like he'd been told. That is, not anymore. Back before he became Joker, the meek, mild-mannered old Arthur Fleck would have. But not now. Whoever's house this was, they shouldn't have brought wildfire into their home expecting it to remain in the hearth. These days Arthur marched to the beat of his own tribal drum, and his drum only.  
But...he didn't attempt to leave. Why? Simply because he became distracted by the long windows.

Driven further by nagging curiosity, he walked over to one of the leaded panes and peered outside. And what he saw didn't make any sense, even to his haddled mind.

The entire landscape appeared to be a picturesque rural setting, in as much as there was luscious greenery everywhere. No concrete jungle. No skyscrapers or ugly brick buildings, just pretty-looking townhouses. White stone cottages with ivy climbing up the walls. An idyllic utopia, pleasing to the eye, but...but it clearly wasn't Gotham.  
In which case, where the hell was he? 

He was still stood anchored to the spot, gazing out of the window when he heard the door open and close again.

"Okay, I'm gonna ask you one more time." Arthur's soft voice hardened as he turned around. "Where the fuck am--?"

His words dissolved in his mouth. The person facing him wasn't the gangster-clown with the bad attitude, but a woman.  
A woman with a painted face, identical to his own, dressed in the same red suit, blue shirt, and yellow vest.  
The only noticeable difference was she wore red heels, and the fitted suit was tailor-made for her figure. The material lovingly clinging to her feminine curves, accentuating her waist, hips, and breasts.

If he hadn't been so blindsided, he would've found the sight even more arousing than he already did.

But then she spoke. Her words shaking him from his temporary stupor...

"Hm. We have got to get you some new pants. This isn't the seventies anymore, you do know that right?"

Arthur's cheeks burned with shame, realising that he was of course standing before this very attractive woman semi-naked.  
And she was irrefutably attractive. Beneath the face paint he could still make out a pretty face. Her features unarguably aesthetically pleasing.

"Oh, um." He managed, willing his brain to regain the ability to speak in full sentences. "I-I'm so sorry that my...underwear...offends you. But would you mind telling me what the hell's going on? And who are you? Who brought me here? Why am I here? More to the point, where is here?"

A smile tugged at the corners of her painted lips as she stepped further into the room, absently running an elegant hand across the back of a nearby chair as she passed.

"Okay, I'll try to answer your questions in order, seeing as I can only answer one at a time. Firstly, all that's going on is you're currently in my home. Secondly, I'm Joker--"

"What?" 

"Uh, do you mind? I'm speaking." She said in a stern voice. "And I don't like being interrupted. You asked me a question, several in fact, which I'm trying to answer. So please don't interrupt me again. It's rude."

Stunned into silence by her peremptory tone, all Arthur could do was listen.

"Right where was I? Ah yes, I had my men bring you here. You were passed out on the road and I couldn't just leave you there." She paused briefly, giggling to herself. "Well actually I probably would've done, if it hadn't been for your suit catching my attention. Not to mention your face of course. And lastly, here, is my house. In Gotham."

Arthur's jaw slackened, and he had to clamp a large hand to his head because it felt as if it were spinning. Spinning so violently he suspected it might spin right off at any second.  
He didn't know where to begin. He could make no sense from any of the information she'd just given him. 

"Okaaaay." He drew the word out, his brows knitting together in concentration. "This...this isn't Gotham. I mean, I should know. I've lived there all my life. And...Joker? Really?" His voice came out much more shrill than he would've liked, but he couldn't help it. He was incensed. "You're...you're not Joker. I'm Joker."

The woman frowned at him, visibly irritated. "Oh you think so? That's sweet. I take it you're a fan and copying my outfit is your way of paying homage to me? Or were you trying to attract my attention, is that it?"

"Copying your outfit? That...that's my outfit. You're the imposter!"

"Imposter? I don't think so. I've been running Gotham now for--"

"This is not Gotham!" Arthur interjected, tugging on his green hair in frustration. "Why are you lying to me? If this is someone's idea of a prank, then okay...well played. But it isn't funny now."

Her hand went to her hip. Chin tilting upwards in annoyance. "What did I say about interrupting me?"

He stared at her askance, noticing the way her eyes flashed dangerously. Admittedly Arthur used to be something of a coward, though he liked to consider himself much braver now that he'd found himself. The real him. Joker.  
And yet, there was something about this female 'Joker' that commanded attention, and he felt himself wither beneath the heat of her gaze. Honestly, he wouldn't have been surprised if it reduced him to a flaming pile of ashes.

"Y-you told me not to." He murmured in a small voice.

"Right. So what do you say?" She demanded.

"S-sorry." He stuttered.

"And you won't do it again, will you?" 

He shook his head, all the while despising himself for his sudden, unexplained meekness. Damn, if he'd still been prone to his fits of anxious laughter then there was no doubt in his mind that he'd be laughing until his ribs cracked.

Oblivious to his turbulent thoughts, his female counterpart seemed satisfied with his apology. "Good. That's better."

Closing his eyes, he fought the urge to violently punch himself in the side of the head, or hit it against the wall.  
It was like slipping into some weird alternate universe. Arthur In Wonderland. 

"What have you done with my clothes?" Managing to keep his voice calm, he raised his green eyes to hers and dared for the first time to hold her gaze, ignoring the hot blush that stained his cheeks.

"They had blood on them." She stated simply, though her (y/e/c) eyes demanded further explanation.

"I was in an accident."

"What happened?"

"I was running from the cops. I got hit by a car."

She shook her head in apparent disbelief. "That's not possible. The police aren't a problem anymore. I run things now. And all motorised vehicles have been banned from Gotham. I was sick of the exhaust fumes choking the atmosphere."

What? This was insane.  
Just when he thought things couldn't possibly get any weirder, she was now claiming that the police were, what? No longer a thing? And that cars and trucks and buses had all been banned to make the city air more breathable?  
This was the stuff his whimsical dreams were made of.  
But in reality? No. There wasn't a chance it could ever happen.

Then suddenly the realisation dawned on him.  
This had to be a dream.  
Either that or he'd finally lost his mind completely. He'd danced the fine line between sanity and madness for numerous years now. Perhaps he'd finally slipped over the edge.  
Either way, he figured he ought to try and relax a little. Because none of it was real. To some extent, in a twisted way it was too good to be real.  
But relaxing was easier said than done.

"So, who's blood was it?" She asked, shattering his thoughts.

Arthur sighed, beginning to pace back and forth. Too agitated to be still. "I guess it should have been mine."

"But you're not injured."

"I know." He sucked in his cheeks, drawing in a calming breath. "Which makes no sense. None of it does."

"Hey, it's okay." 

The sudden change in her voice took him by surprise, and his pacing slowed when he saw that she was now slinking her way towards him. Her womanly hips swaying provocatively as she walked, the sight practically mesmerising him.

"I think maybe you could use some rest. You're obviously experiencing some confusion."

"Um, d'you think?" He couldn't refrain from scoffing. "No shit I'm confused."

She stopped dead in front of him, her neat brows gathering in a stern look of disapproval.

"I beg your pardon? Was that sarcasm?"

Inexplicably, Arthur gulped. She was pissed again, but he really ought not to care. If anyone had the right to be pissed it was him. He was the one who's been kidnapped, stripped, and...and...was now being reprimanded like a bad little boy.

"Yes. It. Was." He retorted, his voice clipped.

"My you're quite a feisty one, aren't you?" She taunted.

"Excuse me?"

"No actually I won't. I don't care for your tone. I'm trying to be nice, and you're mocking me. I won't tolerate that sort of behaviour."

"Yeah?" Arthur boldly took a step forward, aggressively invading her personal space. Deliberately getting all up in her face, as if challenging her to do her worst. "And what exactly are you going to do about it, Ma'am?"

Her hand moved too quickly for him to follow, and before he could react she delivered a swift, hard slap across his cheek. His head snapped back with the force of the strike, rendering him too shocked to even vocalise his thoughts.

"Do not disrespect me again!" She hissed.

Arthur raised a hand to his reddened cheek, glaring at her with barely suppressed fury. "You know what, sweetheart? You're lucky you're not a man, 'cause I don't wanna hurt a lady." He growled.

Her nostrils flared with indignation. "Don't call me sweetheart. And I'm no lady. If you think you can take me on, Joker, then think again. I could bring you to your knees and have you begging for mommy."

He snorted rudely. "I really doubt that. My mom's dead and I was the one who killed her. You're the one who needs to think twice before taking me on!"

She tilted her head to one said, considering what he'd said carefully before replying, "Actually I didn't mean it like that. But it explains a lot."

"What does?" He snapped.

"Your defensiveness. You're all talk and no action. So full of rage and yet at the same time....like a lost little boy."

Something in Arthur snapped. He gripped her roughly by the arms, holding her in a painfully tight grasp. "I'm not a lost little boy!"

"Let go of me!" 

With impressive speed, she used her leg to swipe his own from under him in one quick movement. He fell to the floor, but refused to relinquish his hold on her, taking her down with him.

They wrestled around on the thick, soft carpet, grappling with each other. Until it began to feel like a sensual tug of war. Their fighting becoming tempered with something almost erotic. She was surprisingly strong, and when he found himself flat on his back with her straddling his waist, her delicate hands pinning his arms above his head, he found he was actually quite happy to be there.

"You know...." Her breath was ragged from exertion. "...you're actually kinda cute." She smirked, mischief dancing in her eyes. "I could take care of you if you'd let me. Like you've never been taken care of before."

Arthur's chest tightened, her unexpected proclamation making him even more breathless.

"But, you have to behave." She continued. "And let's just get one thing straight...I'm not sweetheart, Ma'am, lady, or even Miss."

"Then what are you?" He asked roughly, his heart thumping so hard he was sure she must've felt it hammering through his chest. "We can't both be Joker. You must have a name?"

She hesitated a moment, a wicked grin playing on her pretty, kissable lips. "It's (y/n). But you can call me mommy."

Arthur's mouth curved in amusement. "Mommy?" He chuckled. "Why Mommy?"

"Because, I think I might just have a kink for this kind of thing." She giggled girlishly, before leaning down and whispering close to his ear in a way that made his pulse speed up against his wishes. "And I so wanna take care of you, baby boy."

He swallowed hard. Her words washing over him like a balmy tidal wave of lust. Having the most powerful effect on his all too willing body. It was unexpected, but he found himself not disliking this unfamiliar, deliciously erotic game. Her dominance affecting him in ways he never would have expected.

"You haven't told me your name yet, cutie."

"A-Arthur. My names' Arthur."

(y/n) smiled down at him seductively, subtly shifting against him, making the most of having him pinned at her mercy. Gleaning an almost sadistic pleasure from feeling his body naturally respond to her calculated movements.

"So, Arthur?" Her voice slowed to a sensual drawl, as she ground her hips into his. "Wanna play?"

His eyes glazed over as he became lost in his lust-filled reverie. Her curves felt as if they'd been made to measure for his sinewy muscles. Fitting together like two pieces of the same jigsaw puzzle. Her proposition was enticing. Perversely, he wanted this. More than he'd ever wanted anything in his entire life.  
Unable to resist, he succumbed to this sweet madness.

It took enormous effort on his part to steady the tremor in his voice, as he breathed his next words into an answer, "Y-yeah...I do."

Elated, (y/n) swooped down and caught him off guard in a deep, spine-tingling kiss that made him perceptibly tremble beneath her.

He felt her fingers playing in the soft waves of his hair, and she smiled against his lips. "Mhm..Good boy."


	31. Arthur In Wonderland (pt.2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning ⚠️ This chapter is NSFW! 🤣

\--3rd person POV--

If Arthur hadn't been hijacked by hormones, he would've required answers.   
Answers to the many questions he did indeed have.   
But as all the blood seemed to surge downwards to a specific part of his anatomy, it hindered his ability to think straight.  
It was only once he found himself on his feet again, and happened to catch sight of his reflection in the mirror, did he feel compelled to call a halt to proceedings and give voice to the niggling questions he knew he ought to have asked before.

"Wait, where's my makeup?" 

(y/n) didn't appear to hear him at first, seemingly too fully absorbed in trailing sweet, hot kisses down the length of his neck.  
Arthur had been equally immersed in her act too, but the shocking discovery that he was makeup-less proved to be too much to cope with. The tantalising affect her exquisite administrations had on his body and mind wasn't enough to keep him quiet.

"What was that, cutie pie?" She whispered against his skin.

"My makeup!" Pulling back, he disentangled himself from her arms and marched over to the fireplace, his green eyes never leaving his reflection in the mirror which hung above it. "Where did it go? Did you wash it off, (y/n)?"

She sighed a little exasperatedly, but couldn't refrain from smiling at his cuteness. "I thought I told you to call me mommy?"

"Forget that, I want to know why you'd wash my makeup off?"

"Okay, firstly...I've no idea what you're talking about. And secondly...no I won't forget it. I thought you wanted to play?"

The returning anger was enough to douse Arthur's fevered ardour more effectively than if she'd poured ice cold water over his now waning erection.

"What do you mean you don't know what I'm talking about? I'm talking about my makeup! Are you saying I was wearing my suit when you found me but not my makeup?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. But if it makes you feel better..." Reaching for his hand she grabbed hold of it and tugged him towards her walk-in closet. "Here, come with me."

Arthur watched curiously as she flung open the door, flipping the light switch on without letting go of his hand. The overhead light flickered on to reveal a dressing room, with a professional vanity that had lights mounted around the mirrors, much like the one he used to use at Ha Ha's, but a lot more extravagant.

"I'll do your makeup for you, baby. See? Didn't Mommy say she'd take good care of you?"

Arthur raised a sceptical eyebrow. It still didn't answer his question. But so far he hadn't found answers to any of them. Such as why her version of Gotham was so different to his own. Or why she believed she was the Joker.   
If it was madness or a dream, then he could run with the craziness and enjoy it.  
But he wasn't able to refrain himself from asking a question that she should be able to answer.

"This whole mommy thing...how does it work?" 

It was her turn to raise an eyebrow beneath her face paint, but hers was playful. Accompanied by an amused, mischievous smile.

"How does it work? Well it's a care-giving kinda thing. You let me take good care of you, and I make you feel special, loved, appreciated, and safe. Doesn't that sound nice, hm?"

He allowed her to steer him over to the stool in front of the vanity, and sit him down.

"Well yeah, sure. But calling you mommy feels sorta weird."

"Why's that?"

"Why? 'Cause it makes me think of people who have these weird relationships with their mothers."

She slipped out of her red fitted jacket, and began unbuttoning her yellow vest. 

"You mean incestuous? It's not like that, cutie. Calling me mommy doesn't mean you're going to be thinking about your dead mother, trust me."

He watched closely with keen interest as she removed the vest, her nimble fingers then beginning to work loose the buttons on her blue shirt.

"So it's...a sexual thing too, right?" 

She smirked, raising her (y/e/c) eyes to his for a brief moment. "Obviously. But you get all of my attention and devotion too, right off the bat."

"And what do you get out of it?"

"I get to feel needed and respected. And if the sex is good, then that'll be a bonus too."

"O-kay." Was all he could manage, as her shirt came apart. Revealing perfect, creamy skin, and pert, rounded breasts.

(y/n)'s smirk increased at the way he stared at her with unabashed awe. It made her feel powerful, desirable and sexy. The intensity of his hungry gaze alone was enough to arouse her, causing the soft nubs of her nipples to stiffen more effectively than cold air ever could.

"I can't be getting makeup on my suit. This greasepaint is hard to get out." She remarked casually, remaining poised and thoroughly in control.

Arthur would've agreed. He knew all to well the tribulations of being a clown and what it did to ones laundry bill. But he wasn't interested in making small talk, plus he didn't trust his ability to engage his brain right now. 

When he found her standing right in front of him, instructing him to remove her pants, he did so without hesitation. They fell down around her pretty ankles, revealing the red thong she wore, and the breath hitched in his throat with a gasp.  
Unable to resist, he impulsively reached out to touch her.   
She gently slapped his hand away, reprimanding him.

"No touching yet, cutie. You need to learn to be patient. All the best things are worth waiting for, aren't they?"

He pouted. "I guess."

"What was that? Do you want to try again."

"Yes."

"Yes what?"

He fidgeted on the stool, feeling embarrassed. "Yes...m-mommy."

"There. That wasn't so hard was it? Unlike you, baby boy." She giggled, eyeing his painfully obvious erection, which had hardened to full arousal once more.

Arthur's face flamed, but his embarrassment was quickly forgotten when she urged him to stand, so she could take his seat and position him on his knees in front of her.

(y/n) then set about painting his face, slowly, methodically, applying gentle care and attention to each delicate stroke of the brush. 

Arthur had never had his face painted by someone else before, and found the whole process novel, relaxing, and undoubtedly erotic.   
As she painted the blue around his eyes he enjoyed having them closed, losing himself to her gentle touch, the intoxicating scent of her perfume, the occasional soft brush of her bare breasts against his chest when she leaned closer. 

As she painted his lips, they tingled with the memory of having kissed her. With the need to kiss her again, all over, every square inch of her beautiful body.  
His eyes devoured the sight of her bosom, naked and so close to his face. 

The way in which he was knelt, hugged between her thighs, made a fierce heat burn through his veins, turning his entire body molten.   
Each time she licked the tip of the brush, staining her deliciously pink tongue red, he longed to do the same thing to her pussy.

By the time she'd completed her task they were both extremely turned on.

"There you go, all done. Don't you look pretty?" She beamed, admiring her handiwork as well as his handsome face.

The makeup suited him, there was no doubt about it. He was already an attractive man, and it added an air of menace to him which was undeniably alluring.

Arthur rose and gazed into the mirror. His makeup had never looked so neat, and seeing the grinning face of Joker filled him with renewed confidence. A confidence which allowed him to fully embrace the much more deviant, sinful side of his personality.

"It's perfect, mommy. Just like you." He smirked, meeting her admiring gaze in the reflection of the glass.

(y/n) felt a hot flush sweep over the entirety of her semi-naked body. His response pleased her, and the way he was eye-fucking her in the mirror made it all the more pleasurable.

"You're such a good boy, you deserve a reward." She brought her hands up and gently began teasing her breasts, revelling in the way his jaw perceptibly slackened. "Would you like to touch me, hm? Is that what you want, baby boy?"

"Oh yeah. I'd really like that, mommy."

As soon as she motioned him forwards he lunged at her, large hands roughly kneading the soft mounds, while sporadically kissing and suckling the soft peaks of her nipples. Each lick, each nip, fuelled their desire further. Increasing her appetite for more, Arthur's own rising lust bordering on insatiable. 

"Mhm, you've smudged your lipstick already, you naughty boy." She smiled seductively, skin smeared in crimson, gleaming with his warm saliva. "Now it's time for you to do something for me, seeing as I did your makeup. Even though you have just ruined it, but I'm not complaining."

Arthur's mouth kicked up at the corner as he fantasised about all the ways in which he could ruin her makeup. How he'd very much enjoy plundering her sinful mouth with his cock, sliding himself in and out between her lips until she damn near choked.

But what she had in mind would more than satiate his dark desires for now.   
(y/n) had slipped out of her thong and he instinctively knew what this must mean.  
And the thought of fucking her with his tongue was almost enough to make a sticky, wet mess in his ever-tightening briefs.

Inflamed, he made a grab for her hips but she swerved and evaded his grasp. Tutting at his overzealousness.

"Now what did I say about patience? Not here, baby. Let's go somewhere where we can get a little more comfortable."

He took the open hand she offered him, and once again permitted her to walk him back into the bedroom. Once there she encouraged Arthur to recline on the bed, then carefully positioned herself above his head, straddling his painted face. 

There was no denying or hiding the blindingly obvious fact she was already wet, and there was a very strong possibility that he risked death by drowning. But christ, he didn't care one bit. All he cared about now was sampling the delights of that sweet, little pussy. Wanting (y/n) to ride his tongue like her life depended on it....and self preservation had always been high on his list of priorities, so as his female counterpart he naturally assumed it would be high on hers too.

She hovered above him for a moment, teasing him remorselessly, remaining just out of reach in order to prolong the sweet, agonising anticipation. She cast her curious, (y/e/c) eyes down and studied the way in which his wicked mouth hungrily sought her out, growling like a feral animal when that illicit place between her silken thighs remained just out of reach.

"Do you want to taste me, baby boy?" She teased mercilessly.

He wanted to yell, Yes! Yes, damn it! I want to taste you!   
But he didn't. Instead he calmly complied with the perverse rules of her game.

"Yes mommy. I want to taste you so much!" He crooned in his low, slightly raspy voice. 

She giggled. Then either as an act of mercy, or purely selfish motives on her part, Arthur wasn't quite sure which, she decided to put an end to his suffering, and carefully lowered herself down.

All of her giggling abruptly ceased the instant his hot mouth found her.  
She almost lost all starch in her legs, as he eagerly buried his face between her trembling thighs, his tongue sweeping over her slick entrance before delving deep between the throbbing folds of her sex.

(y/n) was not a particularly religious person, but shit, Arthur deserved such heavenly praise. What he was doing between her legs was nothing short of miraculous, and to a holier-than-thou person, he would unquestionably be considered a demon or even the devil.

"Holy shit!" She exclaimed, as he nuzzled into her, searching for that elusive sweet spot, with unbridled restraint. "That's so good, baby. Don't stop!"

Yet another low growl escaped his lips, reverberating against her as he lapped at her greedily, hungrily, devouring her, savouring her sweet elixir which ran down his chin, soaking the sheets and even his green locks of hair, until both were saturated.

Her breath came out in small pants until her throat became painfully dry, and her hands balled into fists, gripping onto the bedsheets at her sides in desperation.

His formidable tongue, the expert, precise licks sent hot sparks of pleasure throughout her entire body, creating a sweet electrifying impact, and she felt the luxurious, inimitable tension of her impending climax begin to tighten and spread to every nerve, cell and neurone.

She bucked her hips unashamedly, and ground herself against his skilled mouth, as he relentlessly continued, working her towards the height of all pleasures.

The fluttering dips made her tremble almost violently. Her need for release reaching a feverish pitch, and she found herself panting words of encouragement;

"Fuck yes! That's it, baby boy! Right there! Just like that! Aaah--"

(y/n) was moaning like an actress from a porno movie Arthur had once seen, but knowing it was him who drew such sinful sounds from this beautiful woman made his heart palpitate wildly in his chest, and he struggled to reign-in the desire to flip her over and fuck her senseless.

If this was a dream then her moans had to be real, his haddled mind reasoned. Meaning that unlike the professional pornstar, (y/n)'s pleasurable mewling wasn't an act. He was turning her on. He was satisfying her. Which made the entire experience even more incredible. She tasted incredible. 

She was on the verge of begging for him to put an end to this blissful torment, when he flicked the tip of his tongue against her swollen clit, then sucked.  
And her vision faded to white. The room falling out of focus around her, as she tumbled into exquisite oblivion.

Threads of pleasure rippled down her shuddering legs, into the very soles of her feet, as she came on his tongue. Crying out, her thighs involuntarily squeezed together, almost crushing his head in the process no doubt, as her back bowed and her limbs shook uncontrollably.

Not allowing herself the necessary time to recover, (y/n) felt the need to move, to allow her new lover room to breath. He looked delightfully devilish as she rose begrudgingly and unsteadily. The makeup around his mouth a smudged wreck. The white paint on his chin almost completely gone.  
His grin was wicked, and his eyes even more so. The look in them causing her stomach to cramp with lust, despite just having climaxed.

Not trusting herself to stand on her putty-like legs, she rolled over onto the bed. Slowly scooting down until her face was level with his navel. 

Arthur's grin vanished as she propped herself up on one elbow, hovering over him. A sudden thickness formed in his throat, making it difficult to swallow.

"Wow. That was something else, cutie. You made mommy come so hard."

"I-I want to make you come again. You're so beautiful. You make me so fucking hard!"

"Language, baby! And remember you have to be patient!" 

Feeling reprimanded, he nodded. "Sorry mommy."

"Okay then. Now let mommy take care of you, baby boy."

Settling between his long legs, (y/n) tugged at his white briefs, deliberately brushing her hands over his hard cock. 

And Arthur's eyes almost rolled right back into his head...


	32. Arthur In Wonderland (pt.3)

\--3rd person POV--

"W-what are you doin-- Oh!" Arthur's dark brows shot up comically, as recognition dawned on him.

(y/n) trailed sweet kisses over his navel, her sinful lips making their teasingly purposeful descent towards his cock. 

Jesus Christ, this seductive temptress was bound to be the death of him. Though he couldn't have cared less as she lowered further, and his mind slowed to a crawl.  
So what if she was the death of him, at least he'd die a happy man.

She was aware of him watching intently as she brought her face closer, admiring the size and shape of his sex. Arthur's impressive manhood was thick, lengthy, hard, and without exaggeration, perfectly formed. But admittedly...alarmingly large.

"I don't know if you're real or not...but shit, this feels real." He drawled in a low voice, as she carefully took hold of his cock and kissed the tip, which made him jitter uncontrollably. 

Watching his reaction and seeing his facial expressions was amazingly erotic, (y/n) found. His breathing quickened further still, and his lust-filled eyes were glued to hers as he stroked her face tenderly with the back of his hand.

Then finally, after an agonising pause, she wet her lips with her pink tongue and slowly drew him into her mouth.

"Oh....fu--!" The contact was electrifying and startling, and Arthur found his head lolling back as if even the muscles in his neck had liquified, defeated by the intensity of the pleasure that made all the nerves in his thighs and stomach spasm.

His reaction and exclamation made (y/n)'s heart palpitate inexplicably. She was actually delighted by his positive response to her sexual exploration of his body.

Then she felt those lovely long fingers creep to the back of her neck, sliding into her green hair until he had a firm grip on the back of her skull. Unable to contain his growing need, he impulsively pushed his length further inside her mouth, which forced her to pull back.

"Easy there tiger." She coughed, eyes watering slightly. "Let mommy do the work, okay?"

"O-okay, sorry mommy." He rasped, evidently a little frustrated. "I won't do it agai...." His words dissolved into a whimper, as she took him in her mouth once again, refusing to be deterred. 

Drawing back slightly, her voice was little more than a breathless whisper, "Does this feel good, baby boy?" She enquired casually, licking and fluttering her tongue over the little ridge of skin on the underside.

Arthur gasped in reply. "God yes! Too good. You're going to...you're going to make me come...."

"Mhm, good boy. I want you to come for mommy. Let me taste you."

Arthur's hips began flexing upwards in a shallow rhythm as if he was incapable of controlling his own movements. Filled with determination and encouraged by the sounds her explicit actions drew from him, (y/n) sucked and suckled him greedily, convincing Arthur that she wanted to drain him dry.   
And he was thrusting carefully, hands fisting into her hair as he gasped and groaned in appreciation.

Opening her mouth as wide as it would go in order to accommodate as much of him as possible, she looked up at him through her blue eyelashes. He was watching her with hooded eyes, mouth gaping as he fought to take shallow, unsteady breaths.   
Their eyes met and something deep inside her stomach began sending out waves and screams of absolute pleasure. Seeing Arthur tremble and sweat, his handsome face contorting in pleasure, was deliciously erotic.

She knew instinctively how to drive him wild. Her lips stretched around his swollen shaft, fingers squeezing and stroking what she couldn't take in her mouth. 

His hands fisted into the bedsheets on either side of him, grasping and twisting them until his knuckles glowed white. Then she felt his entire body go rigid, save for the nerves jumping beneath her touch as his climax hit.

His jaw flexed, eyes fluttering shut as he was consumed by explosive ecstasy. His back bowed, and a guttural cry ripped from Arthur's clenched throat. The orgasm tore through his pulsing body, as he spilled himself inside her. 

(y/n) felt his release flooding her mouth, and swallowed the bitter-sweet elixir wantonly, savouring every drop.

Letting go of the sheets, he rested one hand on his forehead as he panted and fought to steady his erratic breaths. He felt shaken and dazed by the sweet, spiralling madness, his brain taking much longer than he would've liked to resume some function.

Sensing that she ought to let him recover, (y/n) had carefully withdrawn his waning length from her hot mouth, and crawled back up the bed to lay beside him. 

He was still trembling slightly, and staring straight up at the ceiling feeling stunned.   
He was stunned.   
He'd never known pleasure like it.

"That was amazing." He blurted, his hand drifting slowly over her back, whilst she absently twirled a lock of his green hair between her fingers. "You're amazing."

"Aw, we're just getting started baby." She cooed, the warm push of her bare breasts indescribable against his chest. "Wouldn't you like to fuck me? Hm?"

Arthur gulped. "Y-yeah. I want to fuck you so bad. Will you let your baby boy ruin you?"

His response created a river of heat which flowed throughout her entire body. "Goodness! Your recovery time is certainly impressive, cutie."

Eyeing his semi-hard cock, she carefully reached down and teased it to full arousal again.

"How do you want me, mommy?" 

(y/n) smiled wickedly, her (e/c) eyes sparkling with lust. "Exactly as you are, baby. Mommy' going to ride you real hard and fast."

Without needing any persuasion, Arthur grinned up at her as she repositioned herself, a nervous flutter growing in his belly. "You can ride me as hard and fast as you'd like, mommy."

He drew in her luxurious scent, breathing through the layers of her clean feminine skin,   
It was potent, intoxicating, and impossible to resist.   
Not that he'd even try to.

"You're such a good, naughty little boy Arthur, ah--!" Her words dissipated as he took her breasts in a rough, possessive grasp. 

She wavered against him teasingly in preparation. She was so enticingly wet, and he was irrefutably hard, which enabled her to carefully sink down onto him slowly with controlled precision.

They gasped in unison as she slid onto his pulsing cock. Their eyes locked, and for a few moments they both remained absolutely still. The sharp sting of his penetration was shockingly painful, but (y/n) gritted her teeth until she felt the walls of her sex easing around him, and the surge of adrenaline that followed helped diffuse the agony.

Arthur lay motionless beneath her, relishing the way it felt to be so deep inside of her. To be encased in her warm, feminine heat. It felt so damn good he would've been happy just to lay as he was, enjoying the erotic intimacy of the moment. 

And then, she moved.

A small moan left his mouth as she used the muscles of her thighs to lever herself up and down onto the masculine column of his sex, over and over again.   
Having her lips around his cock had been sublime. Having his cock inside her felt fucking exquisite, and it drove him wild.  
His hands instinctively grasped her by the waist, guiding her movements, following the gentle pace she had set.

(y/n) whimpered and leaned towards him, so that their noses were only a fraction apart. Ensuring her movements were making the most of him, she rolled her hips against his eagerly.

And Arthur may have been a bit of a novice, but what he lacked in experience he certainly made up for with enthusiasm.

"Yes. Just like that, baby." She whispered lustful encouragements, as instinct led him to jerk his pelvis upwards to match her grinding. "You feel so good. I want you to come again for me."

"I want you to come too, mommy." 

"Oh I will, baby boy." (y/n) muttered breathlessly, as she rocked back and forth, finding a rhythm.

A twisted smirk pulled at the corner of Arthur's mouth. "D'you like this, huh? Does my cock feel good, mommy? I can feel how wet you are. And...mhm, your pussy is so tight!"

His crude remarks caused her desire to spike, and a pleasant chill raced over her damp skin. The pain was gradually subsiding, fading now to a dull throbbing ache rather than a sharp stabbing sensation.

"Aah, you feel amazing baby. You're so big and hard."

She moved to catch his mouth with her lips, their tongues dancing together hungrily whilst he shifted beneath her to enhance sensitivity, as they gained momentum.   
His sole purpose now was to make her come apart again before he did.  
He wanted to pleasure her like no other man had before. To be someone who she'd never be able to forget. Not just for being the notorious Joker, but for being the best lover she'd ever had.

Her movements sped, and (y/n) began riding him harder as he drove into her with greater force. Her (e/c) eyes slid shut without her realising, succumbing to the pure, primal, sensory delight of having him buried deep inside her, pinned beneath her. 

They broke for air, their breath now coming in ragged gasps as the sweet sensations intensified. She leaned back, arching her body for him beautifully. Now fully bared to him, his lust for her came to a fevered peak. Her perfect breasts bounced erotically with her movements. Her flowing curves tantalised him. Her keening thrilled him and gave him power, the one thing that he craved the most.

Arthur slipped his hands beneath her ass, lifting her slightly to give him greater leverage so he could thrust into her. (y/n) moaned and gripped onto his shoulders, as the sensory overload sent her hurtling abruptly beyond the point of no return, just as an equally defeating orgasm destroyed him.

"Oh...fuck--!" He hissed, the words dissolving into a low groan as his climax peaked and racked his body.

Sitting up, he gathered her in his arms and held her close. His entire body shook beneath her as he felt himself internally falling, crashing and collapsing in on himself.

"Arthur--!" (y/n) moaned out his name, as he stroked the side of her face tenderly.

It took a great amount of effort for her to prise open her heavy lids, but she succeeded, focusing on his devilishly handsome features, now shimmering with sweat, as he gazed at her, barely coherent, his eyes like two glistening emerald pools.

(y/n) felt herself crumple and they moved together to roll over on the bed, their legs entwined with each others, tangled up in the twisted sheets.  
They lay in satiated silence save for their shared panting, and Arthur took the opportunity to examine her with admiring interest.

Her face was flushed, and impossibly pretty. He tried to memorise everything about her features, wanting to remember every single detail, so that he could file it away in his memory, then conjure images of her in his minds eye, and hold her there for years to come.

"You're so beautiful, (y/n.)" He told her, as he gazed deep into her eyes. "Why did you want me?"

Quirking an eyebrow at him, she held his gaze unwaveringly. "Why would I not? You're magnetic, charismatic, and wild. You're more than just a man, Arthur Fleck. You're a magnificent hybrid. Like the lovechild of a demon and an angel."

Arthur frowned in confusion. He hadn't recalled telling her his surname. But after what she'd just said about him, it didn't seem right to focus solely on such trivialities.  
This beautiful woman, who was equally magnetic, charismatic, and magnificent, was saying things he'd only ever dreamed of hearing someone say to him.

"You think so?"

"Absolutely." She giggled. "Don't you?"

His brow furrowed. "Not exactly. That is, I never used to think there was anything special about me at all. I-I'd always been a bit of a coward--"

"Arthur..." She silenced him by placing the pad of her finger against his lips. "Nobody born to raise such hell is a coward. You are an agent of chaos after all."

Arthur swallowed, overwhelmed by a sudden rush of emotion.   
Was it possible that finally he'd found someone who understood him? Who'd willingly accept him and want him for all that he was?  
She was a female Joker, so if she didn't understand then who would?

His thoughts were invaded by wild possibilities. If she'd been born to raise hell too then surely they were made for each other.   
They could rule together. Him as the Clown Prince of Crime, and her as his Princess.

But he wouldn't allow himself to yearn for something more than this.   
To yearn for her. And he couldn't afford to bathe in the heady afterglow for too long. It was proving to be unnervingly enjoyable. He knew he had a tendency to become too attached too soon. To create fanciful scenarios in his mind, which could only lead to disappointment and pain. 

He'd sworn after killing Murray Franklin that nothing could hurt him anymore.  
But maybe that wasn't entirely true, and he had no desire to find out.   
So Arthur tried to force himself to move, to extricate himself from (y/n)'s intimate, warm embrace.

But his traitorous limbs stubbornly refused to cooperate with his will.  
She was curled around him, and he longed to stay like this, absorbing the silky warmth of her body. 

He closed his eyes to cope with the enormity of what he felt. Of what his heart was whispering to him. Taunting him with childish ideals of a love that could never be.   
A love he would never possess. Love was not for the likes of Joker. No matter how much Arthur found himself secretly longing for it.

Afterwards he wouldn't remember the exact moment when he had drifted off into a peaceful slumber. But sleep he did...

* * *

As Arthur prised open his heavy eyelids he was immediately struck by three things.  
The first was his head. It felt muggy, as if it were swollen, and throbbing like an inflated balloon that might pop at any minute.

The second was his mouth. He was so dry he had to peel his lips apart, and if he didn't know any better he would've thought something had crawled inside his mouth and died. There was a disgusting, unidentifiable taste that made him want to vomit.

The third, and most alarming realisation, was he was alone.

A rising panic tightened its grip on his chest as he tried to adjust his eyes to the bright light. 

Where was he?

The last thing he remembered before waking up at (y/n)'s was....oh, shit!

Slowly it was all coming back to him in hazy fits and starts.

He'd been running from the cops. Then the car had come out of nowhere. Then...  
Then....it was all a complete, scary blank, and he was afraid. Afraid of the blankness, because that was where he'd discover the truth. The painful truth that he hadn't awoken to find himself in an alternate reality where Gotham was an idyllic utopia ruled by a Clown Princess of Crime.

Now having a rough idea of what must've happened, he was overcome with the urge to cry, but naturally he held it in, somehow managing to keep a handle on his turbulent emotions as best he could.   
He couldn't afford to go losing his shit right now. He needed to try and think clearly. He needed to clear his head, to piece things together, but his mind was fogged up with pain and distorted thoughts.

Silently he lay staring up at the ceiling for a while, at the strip lighting and the way it reflected off the tiled walls.   
The room was so bright, making him want to close his eyes again and drift back into the deep, blissful sleep he had been in.   
And return to her.

He felt like he must've been asleep for years, but he was still tired. It was all too tempting to succumb to the drowsiness, which would be only too easy, as he was lay down in a bed. But not his lady Joker's bed. A bed which had cot-sides.

The strong smell of anti-bacterial cleaner filled his nose. Beside him he heard the beep...beep....beeping of a machine, and slowly turned his head towards the source of the noise. The muscles in his neck were stiff, the small movement causing a searing pain to shoot down his neck.

The pain was all the proof that he needed. His head felt like it was being held together by industrial tape. This was how he should have felt when he first woke up.  
Except, he hadn't woken up at all the first time.   
Just as he'd suspected at the time, it had all been a crazy, dirty, fulfilling, lovely dream. The product of the fevered imagination of a crazy, sex-starved, lonely, unloved man.

Unable to stand the crushing disappointment, Arthur allowed his eyes to drift shut once more, and willed himself to return to his fantasy dreamland, while silent tears pushed their way passed his damp lashes, wetting his cheeks.

What was the point of being the Clown Prince of Crime, if he was so damned?  
Cursed to be alone forever. Ruling all by himself.


	33. Arthur In Wonderland (pt.4)

\--3rd person POV--

Arthur was awoken from a dreamless sleep, suddenly aware of the sound of a door being pulled open, and the noise of telephones ringing and various voices that filtered into the room from the corridor outside.

"Is he awake yet?" A gruff, male voice demanded, followed by a gentle yet assertive female voice;

"No, Mister Fleck hasn't woken up as yet. I'm afraid these things take time, detective."

The detective, grunts impatiently. "Yeah well you be sure to inform us the minute that freak opens his eyes."

"I'm afraid Mister Fleck will require rest. Given his injury, he's bound to feel confused and--"

"Just let us know." He cuts her off sharply, then silence.

Hesitantly, Arthur turned his head, following the sound. He cracked his eyes open, then all at once...she was there.

Like a vision straight out of heaven. An angel cast down to earth.   
His lady Joker. The Clown Princess of Crime.  
(y/n).

Except, she wasn't wearing the red suit, but a nurses uniform.  
Her hair was no longer green, it was (h/c).   
And she wasn't wearing the garish makeup. Yet he still recognised her.  
How could he not? He'd studied her so closely, peered beyond the grease paint, and her beautiful face was burned into his memory.  
There was no mistaking her.

The next thing he knew, she was above him. Leaning down, her face hovering above his, her expression one of surprised concern.

He caught the distinct scent of her perfume. So sweet, so feminine, so familiar, which was more noticeable in the environment due to all the disinfectant.  
She moved away momentarily, the smell of her still clinging to the air around him, and he inhaled deeply.

How was it possible? His lady Joker...was a nurse.

Sudden flashbacks filled his minds eye, snippets of their conversation returning to him..

"This whole mommy thing...how does it work?" 

"Well it's a care-giving kinda thing. You let me take good care of you, and I make you feel special, loved, appreciated, and safe. Doesn't that sound nice, hm?"

The cogs in his head turned, their gears grinding so hard he half expected to smell burning, or have smoke coming from his ears, as he attempted to make some sense out of it all.

And the only sensible conclusion he was able to arrive at, was somehow, deep in his subconscious, he must have known she was a nurse. A 'care-giver'.   
She must've been taking care of him since he arrived, and his fevered imagination had done the rest.

His secret yearning. His need to feel special, safe, loved and appreciated, had concocted the dream. A manifestation of everything he'd been through, and everything he wanted. Perhaps he'd woken up and seen her, but couldn't remember.

Arthur opened his mouth in an attempt to speak, to gain her attention, but nothing came out but a dry rasp. And then just as he was about to try again, she returned.  
This time she actually touched him. Reached down and took hold of his wrist, checking his pulse, which was no doubt erratic as a result of his excitement and confusion.

"Mister Fleck? Are you with us?" She asked, her small brow furrowing slightly.

"It's y-y-you." He croaked, very inarticulately, hardly recognising the raspy sound of his own voice. 

It wasn't what he meant to say, but at least he'd managed to speak.   
As she released his wrist he impulsively reached up and cupped the side of her lovely face in his trembling hand.

"M-Mister Fleck." She jumped back in shock, looking decidedly flustered.

"I know you." He proclaimed, voice growing steadily stronger. "(y/n)....that's your name, isn't it?"

Blinking like a startled deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, she nervously touched her cheek. Her skin tingling from where his large hand had cradled the side of her face so tenderly.

"How do you know my name?"

"I know you. You've been taking care of me, haven't you?"

"Yes, but..." She paused, a slow smile parting her lips. "Ah. You must've heard it. That's good. You've been able to hear while you were unconscious."

"But you know me, right?" He ventured, his tired eyes wide and brimming with hope.

Her smile wavered. Her expression becoming serious. "I know who you are, if that's what you mean."

"No. You should know me...uh, personally. Or maybe from your dreams or something."

"Mister Fleck....you've been administered quite a high dosage of morphine. It's common for patients to become confused, and even hallucinate."

Forgetting himself, Arthur shook his head, then flinched due to the searing pain in his neck.

Rushing over to him, (y/n) carefully readjusted the pillows beneath his sore head.

"Please, you need to be still. You've had quite a nasty bump to the head. You're lucky not to have fractured your skull or broken any bones."

Taking a pitcher of water, she poured some into a cup and helped him take a drink.  
He watched her over the plastic brim, her holding it as he swallowed down the fluid greedily.

"I saw you in my dream." He persisted, the moment she removed the cup from his cracked lips. She was standing over the bed, and he was still eyeing her closely. Gauging her reaction. "Actually, I did a lot more than just see you. If you know what I mean."

Her eyes snapped to his, cheeks reddening in embarrassment. "M-Mister Fleck--"

"Arthur." He interjected, smiling his lopsided smile. "To everyone else I'm Joker, but you called me Arthur."

(y/n) felt powerless to look away as he held her gaze. His beautiful green eyes were mesmerising, and held a devilish glint in them which made her heart thud beneath her breastbone.

"You know what else you did?" He whispered, hoarsely. "You moaned my name, when I made you--"

"Mister Fleck!" She snapped, tearing her eyes from the hypnotic snare of his. "This is....inappropriate, and unacceptable. Head trauma and pain relief medication has caused you some confusion. Whatever you think you might've dreamed is precisely that. Just a dream. Nothing more."

"I know." Arthur admitted, to her surprise. "I knew it was too good to be true. But...it felt so real."

Turning away quickly to hide her blushes, (y/n) went over to the window and opened it.

"Some fresh air. That's what you need." She remarked, then sighed to herself. "Well, it's air at least. Not exactly fresh, with all those exhaust fumes choking the atmosphere, but it's the best we can get."

The familiarity of her words brought him some relief. Even though she was now trying to engage in polite small talk, he had the advantage of knowing her already, thanks to his wonderful dream.

"I'd get rid of them all if I could."

She turned to look at him, taken aback by his words. "The cars?"

"Cars, trucks, bikes. I'd ban them all." He smiled whimsically, indulging himself in his own fantasy. "What I'd really like is a nice place far away from the city. Where it's quiet and...safe."

"Sounds perfect." (y/n) smiled softly. "That's what I've always wanted."

Arthur nodded his head, ignoring the pain. "I know. And we could have it. You and me."

"W-what?"

"I'm Joker, (y/n)." He gave a low chuckle. "I can get the money, and people are afraid of me so they'd leave us in peace. We could get a house in the country. I'd take care of you. You could be my princess."

"You're crazy." She laughed incredulously, the words slipping from her mouth before she could check herself. "I-I mean, you're still delusional. I'm not going to be with you, and I'm afraid, Mister Fleck...as soon as you've recovered you're going to be transferred to Arkham State hospital."

Arthur's chest tightened, feeling like a huge weight had just been dropped on it. Like an anvil. Slowly forcing the air from his lungs, crushing him slowly to death.

"T-this is Gotham General, right?" He wheezed.

(y/n) nodded, her expression noticeably somber.

Overcome with the need to get up, to get out and flee for his life, his freedom, Arthur struggled to sit up by himself.  
But he couldn't move his left arm, and it was only then did he realise that his other wrist had been handcuffed to the cot-side on the bed.  
How the hell had that slipped his notice?   
He was clearly way too distracted by (y/n), which could prove to be detrimental to his self preservation. She was most definitely his weakness.

He tugged on his restraint desperately, the panic frothing in his throat.

Alarmed, (y/n) hurried around the side of the bed, placing her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to calm him.

"Please, you need to rest. There's no point doing that. You're going to hurt yourself."

"So what? What does it matter?"

"It matters to me! You're my patient. I don't want you injuring yourself--" Her words dissolved into a startled squeak, as he grabbed her with his free hand, pulling her dangerously close.

"You've got to help me, (y/n). Please. Don't let them take me to Arkham. I can't be locked away in there again. Not now. Not when I've found you!"

"Found me?"

"Yes! This is fate. We were meant to be together."

"Mister Fleck, if you don't stop this then I shall have to fetch the doctor to sedate you."

Her warning was enough to make him desist struggling, she was breathing rapidly. He could see the rise and fall of her chest, and feel her warm breath against his face.

"Now...let me go." She stated, firmly. 

Arthur's face crumpled. "You don't want me."

(y/n) heaved an enormous sigh and shook her head. "You're a criminal, Mister Fleck. You will be held accountable for your crimes. I'm sorry."

Defeated, Arthur closed his eyes, a part of him wanting to fall back into the darkness. The bizarre yet blissful state of unconsciousness where he was ignorant to what was happening to him and free from the pain. The emotional pain as well as the physical.

He heard the sound of water running in the sink, and forced his eyes open a few seconds later when he felt the pressure on the mattress beside him as she leaned over once more, this time wiping the perspiration from his brow.

(y/n) fought to steady her breathing as she performed her task. Being so close to this anomaly of a man made her feel shaken, but in the best possible way.  
It was so perverse she could hardly understand it. The sense of danger, quickened her blood. The Joker, well, Arthur Fleck, was a very attractive man.   
To have him take such an interest in her was undeniably exciting, and for a brief moment she envisaged herself as his lover. The things they could do. The way things might be. But it was just a fanciful dream. Surely he couldn't truly want her to be his.  
But still, the fantasy gave her a slight thrill.

She coughed gently, trying to keep her mind on her job. "You need to try and eat something. Are you hungry?"

"No, thank you."

He scorned himself for his politeness, when really he wanted to tell her to go to hell.  
If she wasn't going to save him, and be his, then he didn't want her near him at all. Even though he knew he was fooling himself. Of course he just wanted her close to him. Regardless of how disappointed he was.

With great effort, he succeeded in turning himself over onto his side so that his back was facing her. He knew he was being unreasonable and childish, but now he was thinking more clearly, the sting of humiliation and rejection burned him. 

"If there's...anything...you need, press the bell. I've put it where you can reach it."

This time he ignored her, pretending to have fallen asleep.

But (y/n) wasn't that naive. She knew he was faking. So she left the room, closing the door behind her, with an inexplicable heaviness in her heart.

The thing is, she knew all about Arthur Fleck. She'd read his story in all the papers, and she couldn't help but sympathise with him.  
The way she saw it was, he'd been failed by the system. Fallen through the net due to government funding cuts when really he ought to have received further care.  
And the anarchy he had caused was a result of an entire population having been suppressed, overlooked, and undervalued.   
His rebelliousness had given the protesters hope. And they'd perhaps finally made him feel accepted. Like he belonged, and was a part of something.

There had been times when she'd been sorely tempted to don a clown mask and take to the streets herself, and join the movement.  
Instead she had made the sensible decision to remain in her job, to help people. Despite being one of those who were overlooked, and undervalued, herself.

* * *

Later that evening (y/n) returned to the side room to check on the hospitals most infamous patient, in the hopes of coaxing him into eating something.

He was sitting up propped against the pillows. His green hair, stringy, and in dire need of a wash, was scraped back off his face, emphasising the contours of his sharp cheekbones and jawline.

"I need a wash." He proclaimed, as though he'd read her mind. "I feel dirty."

"Tomorrow you'll be able to take a shower. But you need to keep your strength up and eat, if you're going to be walking around."

He dragged his piercing eyes over her in silent assessment, noting the little brown bag she carried in her hands.

"Where's my suit?" He asked, aware of the spooky parallels between reality and his dream. "Did you undress me?"

"Well, y-yes I did--"

"That's a pity. I would've liked to have been awake for that."

(y/n) blinked, and she felt a hot blush stain her cheeks. "W-what?"

"I mean, so I could've helped. You know, to make it easier for you." He clarified, though his first admission hadn't been as innocent as he was making it sound.

"Oh." She breathed. "Well, never mind. It's all part of the job." 

Lowering the right cot-side on the bed, she sat down beside him. 

"I've brought you some grapes. I know how cliched it is, but I thought you might prefer some fruit to something on the menu. I got them from the staff canteen so they're pretty fresh."

Touched by her thoughtfulness, Arthur smiled at her, flashing his dimple. "Shit. Thanks (y/n). That's really thoughtful of you."

She shrugged, modestly. "You're welcome, Mister Fleck."

He rolled his eyes. "I wish you'd call me Arthur. You've no idea how much I hate the name Fleck."

"Oh, I see. Well in that case...I suppose there's no harm in me calling you Arthur."

Hearing his name spoken on her pink lips made his heart quiver. He couldn't help feel some sense of satisfaction at having finally broken down that barrier which divided them. And the small victory spurred him on, and he found himself wondering how much better acquainted they could become if he pressed his luck.

"Here." She smiled, proffering the bag of grapes to him for his perusal, but he stubbornly refused to take one.

"You do it." He insisted, his tone so peremptory it made her frown.

"You don't feel strong enough to feed yourself?"

"No it's not that." He stated flatly, without further explanation. "I'd just like for you to do it. If you wouldn't mind that is?"

There wasn't a genuine reason for her to do it. They both knew that. But Arthur was remembering the touch of her, the taste of her lips, and it made him buzz with need.   
It was more than that though. He also wanted to test her. To push her, and see if she would yield to his desires. If she did then there was a chance she'd be receptive to his attentions.

Her gaze flickered with surprise and a trace of confusion. "Alright then."

Taking a plump red grape from the paper bag, she carefully held it out to him.   
Craning his neck forward, he gently took it in his mouth, deliberately allowing his lips to momentarily draw in the tip of her finger, along with the fruit.

When she sat back from him, he could see on her face that she had felt something. That it had affected her.

"D-do you want another?" She enquired as casually as possible, even though her heart was racing.

He was giving her a penetrative look, trying to read her response, his eyes were a little hooded and gleaming with emotion.

"I want you, baby girl." He blurted, startling himself. But it was an unexpected relief to say it out loud. "Are you sure you don't want me? I could be your daddy. Wouldn't you like that? Having someone take care of you for a change?"

Her large (e/c) eyes rounded. Heat flooded her face, and his glistening eyes watched her closely, wondering what the hell he was doing.

"Mister Fle..., I mean, A-Arthur--"

"Would you let a criminal like me touch you?" He asked roughly, his voice like warm honey. "Would you be ashamed to take me into your body? To let me be your daddy?"

Her jaw slackened in shock, but she had no time to supply him with an answer, as instinctively he gave in to his baser urges and surged forwards, clasping his free hand to the back of her head, and claimed her lips in a soft, passive kiss.

(y/n) felt a tingling heat trickling down her spine, gathering low in her belly like liquid fire. His hand wound through her hair, urging her closer, turning her soft as butter as he pulled her against his chest.

But when he winced slightly, an indication he was experiencing some physical discomfort, it was enough to bring her to her senses.

"Arthur. S-stop." She said softly, and gently eased him back against the pillows without any resistance. "You...you need to rest."

Relishing his newfound power over her, confidence surged through him like it never had before. He grinned like a feral animal, taking-in her flushed face. The way she took her plump bottom lip teasingly between her teeth, and looked at him bashfully from beneath her lashes.

"No, what I need (y/n) is for you to find me a paper clip, a hair grip, or something...so I can get these damn cuffs off, then we can get the fuck out of here."

She gasped, feeling overwhelmed by his magnetism. His dishevelled beauty. His charisma. The magnificence of his very aura, which seemed to exude a dominance that most certainly appealed to her.

"So..." He smirked, devilishly. "Will you be a good girl for daddy and do that, baby girl?"


	34. Arthur In Wonderland (pt.5)

\--3rd person POV--

The hour was late. 

The clock that hung on the wall above the nurses station showed that it was almost midnight.  
(y/n)'s shift had ended over two hours ago, but she hadn't gone home.

No.

Instead, she had sat out in her car, desperately trying to decompress after her long, gruelling day, and tried to gather her scattered thoughts.

Thoughts of Arthur Fleck.

The man who was technically under arrest, and no longer in her care now that the staff working the night shift had come on duty.

Any sane person would've just left and thought no more about it. Dismissed his highly inappropriate proposition as nothing more than the ramblings of a desperate, criminally insane man high on pain medication.

But to her dismay he'd somehow worked his way under her skin, like some beautifully tempting parasite. He was parasitical. There was no doubt about that. He was dangerous, but disarmingly seductive, which made him potently charismatic.

"I want you, baby girl.....I could be your daddy. Wouldn't you like that?"

His lascivious words resounded in her head. That low, raspy voice that tickled her ears and caressed her senses; setting every part of her on fire.

But she told herself that her motives weren't driven by any carnal desire she may or may not be experiencing, but rather his pitiful plea for help.   
The way he'd begged her for assistance. The blatant fear of being incarcerated at Arkham had been evident in his voice, expression, and actions.  
And it had moved her, in spite of her retaining her mask of professional indifference.

When she'd snuck back into his room, he had been sleeping again, and had stirred at the sensation of her trying to manipulate the lock on his handcuffs with a hair pin.

He'd stared at her, drowsy and confused, with heavy-lidded eyes.   
Her hair was loose. That was the first thing he noticed. Falling down, framing her beautiful face, and it took him a long moment to comprehend what exactly was going on.

"I can't do this." She hissed in frustration, her fingers fumbling clumsily. "Can you do it?"

As realisation dawned, a slow smile crept across his tired face. 

"You've had second thoughts, huh? Good girl. I knew you'd come around to my way of thinking."

Ignoring his remark, she handed him the hair pin, which he took carefully between his thumb and forefinger. A few tense moments followed, of him twisting the small piece of bent metal around inside the lock, then the cuff opened with a gratifying click.

"We don't have long. Here, I'll help you." 

He managed to stand shakily with her assistance, and she manoeuvred him hurriedly into a wheelchair.

Getting Arthur out of the hospital was much easier than (y/n) had first anticipated.  
All she had to do was wait until the police officer that had been instructed to stand guard outside Arthur's room, went to grab some food from the canteen before it closed for the night.

The unsuspecting man hadn't counted on a rebellious nurse who'd become smitten with her criminal patient, to wheel him off the ward and into an elevator, under the pretence of taking him for an urgent scan.

The hospital was eerily quiet at that time of night. The corridors were deserted, and the staff they encountered were mostly agency workers; who didn't know (y/n) and wasn't rightly interested in any of the patients.   
Lack of funds meant security cameras had yet to be installed in all of the corridors, so she negotiated them strategically, avoiding the main entrance and the security desk in the lobby.

As soon as she reached the safety of the car park, she practically broke into a run. Her heart was pounding in her ears, adrenaline surging through her bloodstream, making her feel daring and reckless.

They reached her car and she urged him to climb onto the back seat, which he did with great effort. His legs felt unsteady, and he was irritatingly lightheaded. The night air penetrated the thin material of his hospital gown, making him shiver uncontrollably. His entire body trembled due to the cold, and the hospital blanket she thoughtfully tucked around him provided little in the way of warmth.

The soft push of her breasts against his chest as she leaned over him, struggling with his seatbelt, did however help raise his temperature, and offered a most pleasurable distraction from the chilly Gotham night.

"You're such a naughty little girl." He grinned crookedly. "Daddy's looking forward to rewarding you."

"Okay, can you please just stop with the whole daddy thing? That's not why I'm helping you." 

She found it improbably difficult to concentrate on what she was doing, and breathed a sigh of relief when she was finally able to take her seat behind the wheel, a safe distance away from him.

He bit back the urge to argue with her, deciding it was probably safer just to keep quiet for the time being. Instead he focused on the familiar surroundings outside, that whizzed by in a blur as the car sped along the main streets of central Gotham.   
The streets that looked far more beautiful to him when ablaze.

He wasn't sure how long they drove for, all sense of time had been lost on Arthur since being hospitalised. He wasn't sure if he'd dozed once or twice; his head lolling back against the seat. Briefly he had allowed his eyes to drift shut, his acute senses taking over. He listened to the soft hum of the engine, and the scent of the leather upholstery and (y/n) filled his nostrils. It was strangely comforting.

When at last they pulled into a driveway, he alighted the vehicle with her help. Arching and stretching, he cracked his back, earning a hiss of disapproval from her.

"You shouldn't do that." She scolded him, as he leaned against her; limping up to the front door.

"Yeah there's lots of things I shouldn't do, but I still do them." He smirked, while she helped him inside. "Like smoking."

"Smoking will kill you."

"Not quickly enough."

"Don't say that!"

"Geez, don't do this, don't say that. Has anyone ever told you you're kinda bossy?"

"I'm a nurse, caring isn't being bossy. Can you make the stairs?" (y/n) asked, surveying him worriedly. "It might be too much. I could make you a bed up on the couch."

"I can manage just fine." He insisted, stubbornly.

It took a huge amount of effort, more than he'd anticipated, climbing the stairs.   
Arthur found it frustrating. His limbs were still aching and his legs felt precariously weak.  
If this was how exhausted he was just getting up the stairs then he fleetingly wondered how he was going to ravage her tempting little body.  
Especially when he reached the bed. The soft pillows and comfortable mattress, a far cry from the hospital bed he was used to, felt enticing like a fluffy, cozy cocoon.

For the first time he paid attention to their surroundings.   
The room was feminine; decorated in soft, pastel shades that he found quite soothing, and when he wearily buried his face into the pillow beneath his head, he could smell the flowery notes of her perfume.

It had to be her room.

However, when she began attentively pulling the comforter up around him, he grew confused.

"Aren't you gonna stay with me (y/n)?"

She shook her head. "No. I...I'm going to sleep in the spare room."

His face fell. "But what if I need you?" He whined.

"I'll be right next door. All you have to do is shout."

"But what if you don't hear me?"

"I will. The walls are paper thin in this place."

He laughed and ran a hand over his mouth, amused. "Your neighbours won't like it much then, when they hear you screaming my name--"

"They'll be no name-screaming tonight, Arthur. I already told you, that isn't why I'm helping you."

"So...tomorrow then?" He smiled, showing all of his teeth and the tip of his tongue. "You helped me because you know, deep down, that we belong together. There's a connection and you feel it, don't you?"

"I felt sorry for you. Nothing more." She lied.

"Mhm." His eyes narrowed in suspicion.

That was an odd, knowing sound for him to make. As if he was fully aware of her lying through her teeth.

"And, more importantly, you need to rest." She added as an afterthought.

He reached out and lifted a strand of hair from her face, as she busied herself with adjusting his pillows. He pushed the loose tendril behind her ear gently; barely touching her as he did so. 

(y/n)'s breath caught in her throat, and she thought his fingers would linger at her neck. She could feel the pause as his hand hovered close to her skin. 

He responded, after what seemed like an unnaturally long moment. "I've rested enough. We're alone now. I finally have you all to myself." He said, in an odd, distant sort of voice. "Don't worry baby, you're safe with me. There's nothing to be afraid of."

(y/n) felt a stirring in her stomach that had nothing to do with fear at all.

Yes, admittedly the idea of having such a man in her house had obviously frightened her a little. But he was weakened by the lingering affects of the morphine, and the exertion of having to climb the stairs. So in his present condition, he posed very little threat. 

"A-Arthur." Her voice quivered, betraying the nervousness she felt. "I'm tired, and you need to sleep too."

"I don't need anymore sleep, baby girl. I need you!" 

But then suddenly his hand was gone, and he was turning away. A large hand clamping over his mouth.

(y/n) didn't need to ask what was wrong. She'd nursed long enough to recognise when someone was going to be sick.  
Without hesitation, she grabbed the wastepaper basket from the side of her desk, and managed to hold it out for him just in time.

Arthur sat up abruptly, and humiliatingly heaved up the contents of his stomach, or rather, the lack thereof. 

Thankfully he hadn't eaten, besides one grape which she had fed him earlier, but he gagged and retched all the same, unable to prevent the nauseating churning in his guts.

Once he'd finished, she whisked the wastepaper basket away, returning soon after with a bowl, cloth, and a glass of water.

"It's the morphine." She explained. "Opiates have this affect on most patients."

He couldn't bring himself to meet her eyes as she held the tumbler to his dry lips, the cool liquid soothing his irritated throat as he drank slowly and deeply. 

Shit. This was hardly the image he wanted to present. But there was something undeniably touching about the way she cared for him.

It had been quite an eventful day; injury, vomit, escaping the hospital, and sordid fantasies in his sleep....which he'd actually admitted to her.  
She could not have any allusions left about him now, he thought wistfully.   
He was so far removed from the swaggering, charismatic clown that she'd seen on the television, it was hardly surprising she didn't want him like he wanted her.

"I'm going to sleep here." She announced suddenly, gesturing to the large, wicker chair in the corner. "It's probably best you're not left alone."

He raised one dark brow in her direction, and colour flooded her face, her skin glowing pink.

"Just in case you get sick again." She clarified quickly, before he got the wrong idea. "I can't have you choking in your sleep."

"Awe, its sweet that you care. And you can't say it's your job now, you're off duty."

Choosing to ignore him, (y/n) pulled open the drawer that contained her nightwear, and began searching around for a pair of suitable pyjamas.   
Normally she would take a shower before bed, but ordinarily she didn't have a sick, murderous clown in her bedroom.  
Until he was settled, she wouldn't take the chance of showering.  
The very thought of it made her feel alarmingly vulnerable.

Arthur watched as she left the room, feeling the prickle of annoyance. He longed to convince her that he wanted so much more than just physical pleasure.  
He wanted her. All of her. For himself. Not just now, but always.

When she reentered the room a few minutes later, he was lay silently, his eyes closed.  
At first she thought he'd gone to sleep, but then she felt the telltale sensation of his gaze flow down the back of her neck. An intuitive awareness that he was looking at her.

She had chosen her most attractive yet sensible pair of pyjamas.   
The vest top and cute shorts were flirty, yet not too revealing. Why it mattered to her so much, she was too afraid to consider.   
Was she merely being paranoid that he was looking at her?  
Or worse still. What if she wanted him to be looking at her?  
After all, she wasn't immune to the sight of an attractive man, and one who's reputation was so thrillingly fierce, and who's confidence was so very...manly.  
Manly in the most abstract sort of way.

Inanely she blushed when he spoke...

"Are you deliberately trying to turn me on, (y/n)?"

He was on the opposite side of the room, but his voice was as warm and deep as though he was standing right behind her.

"N-no. Of course not." She stuttered.

Reluctant to face him, she stole a discreet glance as she plumped the pillow on the chair.

A small furrow marked the space between his thick brows. He was indeed looking at her. Looking at her in such a way that suggested her intuition had been right all along.

Why had she put these pyjamas on? She'd been an idiot, and he'd seen right through it of course. Now she was stunned. Stupidly stunned. Her lack of clothing made her feel vulnerable, her position so open to his gaze.

"I need more water." He croaked, which wasn't a lie. His mouth had gone incredibly dry all of a sudden. "Can you please help me?"

Swallowing hard, she nodded and made her way over to the bed. And Arthur couldn't tear his gaze from her body. The subtle sway of her hips was hypnotising and captivating, making him almost salivate in spite of his throat feeling parched. 

She was intensely aware of his heated gaze, as she reached for the glass tumbler.  
And that's when she felt it, low in her abdomen; a small shaky fire that spread through her like fear.   
She was afraid. There was something so open and hungry in his look, and the shock of what she recognised in his eyes, struck fear and excitement into her heart.

Longing.  
He was looking at her so longingly.

She helped him drink, letting out something halfway between a sigh and a hiss, a frown working between her brows. Arthur studied her face closely. Surely she knew, just like he knew, that the minute she set the tumbler back down, that he was going to kiss her.

His breath caught as she gazed down at him through her lashes.  
Her eyes. She had such beautiful eyes.  
God, she was even more stunning now than she had been in his sordid dreams.

"Thank you (y/n). You've been so kind to me." His voice was gravelly and low, as he brought a hand up, gently caressing the side of her face.

(y/n) cleared her throat softly. "It...it's my job to..." Her words dissolved as his hand slid around to rest at the nape of her neck.

"Helping patients escape isn't part of your job description." He reminded her, needlessly.

"Well obviously not, but...like I said, I felt sorry for you."

The real truth was in her opinion, quite fanciful and silly.   
She was secretly quite the romantic, and Arthur -- as Joker -- put her in mind of some wild, beautiful, exotic bird. His colourful suit and makeup somewhat akin to the male of the species' fine plumage. To keep such a magnificent creature locked in a cage didn't seem right. He needed to fly free. To be on display for all of Gotham to admire, and look up to.

Joker gave the people hope. The downtrodden, the underdogs, the misfits, the overlooked and mistreated. He was s symbol for them all.  
She couldn't deprive the city of his marvellous presence.  
And she felt sure that if he was left to rot in Arkham, then his colours would fade to grey, in-turn plunging the city back into mundane, uneventful, bleakness.

Impulsively she took his hand in both of hers, admiring the broad back of it and his long, blunt fingers. Bruising circled his slim wrist; where he'd pulled at his restraints earlier, and she found herself absently tracing her fingertips over the purple marks that marred his ivory skin.

She felt his hand tense in hers, and looked to see him wide eyed and more alert than he had been since he got there.

"I love you." He blurted, roughly. His voice thick with emotion. 

(y/n)'s heart swelled in her throat, applying so much pressure to the upper portion of her head she felt it behind her eyes, flooding her face with heat.

"I will make you love me, somehow. I know you could. If you'd just let yourself." He muttered, darkly. 

"That morphine is really messing with your head, Arthur." She laughed, the only way she knew how to diffuse the situation.

"Don't laugh at me." He leaned forward and grasped both her arms, causing her to yelp in surprise.

Though physically hurting and drugged, he'd somehow retained enough strength so he could pull her across him and hold her there.

Her (e/c) eyes goggled up into his striking green ones. They were so familiar yet odd, made murky by the affects of the morphine, and startlingly sexy. 

And then he pressed his mouth to hers. 

The stunning taste of him, was inexplicable and arousing, thrilling through her in a charge of heat and need.   
There was his scent. The feel of him beneath her. The movements of his chest, as he held her and breathed against her lips.  
There was the awakening of boundless desire in her belly, undeniable pleasure surging through every part of her.

And her warm wet lips against his, felt incredible.   
Arthur found himself trembling from the sheer joy of it, and didn't try to contain it.  
He let the emotion rise up and through him, until he wanted to sing.  
He put his hand to the back of her neck and urged her closer, with a muffled grunt.

It was wondrous, he thought, how love could be entwined so deeply with such white hot lust. So convenient. So right. So fucking good.

He was holding her in his arms, in her bed no less, and he thought all his dreams had finally come true.   
He had never been in love before, and he was overcome with the all-encompassing jumble of desire, hope, and yearning. 

He grasped her and pulled her closer, showing her in no uncertain terms that he wanted her. He kissed her, and held her, and ached with a ravishing need.

But then she pulled away so abruptly, so roughly, moving away from the bed, and out of his reach. 

"Y-you deliberately tricked me." She hurled at him, accusingly. "I'm trying to take care of you, and all you want is to seduce me. Did you even want some water? Or was that just your way of getting me over here?"

"Actually I was thirsty. But don't play the innocent with me, baby girl. You know you put those PJ's on to tease me. You can't deny it."

Arthur regretted saying the words as soon as they'd left his mouth, but he couldn't take them back. His patience was well and truly wearing thin, and he was irrationally frustrated with the situation. With her.   
Everything would be perfect if she'd just simply give in. 

"W-why would I want to tease you?" She threw over her shoulder at him, as she turned, wrapping her arms around herself. "It's the morph--"

"If you say it's the drugs one more time, I'm really gonna lose my temper, sweetheart." He growled. "I'm not high on morphine, okay? I know my own fucking mind, and I know how I feel."

"Oh, so you just expect me to believe that the most wanted man in Gotham, a handsome, attractive, icon just suddenly fell in love with me? Me! A mere nurse. Pfft." She scoffed. "That sort of thing just doesn't happen in the real world. Not to the likes of me. It's the stuff fantasies are made of."

A corner of his mouth quirked. So, she considered it the stuff of fantasies. That was promising.

"You think I'm handsome (y/n)?"

"As you very well know you are!" 

Arthur didn't have a reply to that. He didn't consider himself handsome at all, and he wasn't exactly a ladies man.  
Hell, he was still a virgin for Christ's sake.

"You're right it is the stuff of fantasies. You're my fantasy, (y/n), and I can make all your dreams come true if you'd let me."

The anger she was feeling made red, blotchy patterns appear across her face, chest, and upper arms. Such intense anger, Arthur realised, which did not fit with the sweetness of her kiss. He might've been angry too if he wasn't so utterly confused.

"I bet you say that to all the girls." She replied, bitterly.

"There are no other girls. Only you. You're all I want!" He insisted, a jumbled mixture of feelings rising in his chest...

Dread, fury, and disappointment. 

The allegations she made against him were untrue, and unfair.   
Just because he'd accumulated a following didn't mean he'd been living a life of debauchery; engaging in orgies every night with so-called fan-girls who admired him.

Hurt and a stupid sense of betrayal stung him, causing an odd tightness in his throat.

"You're all I want." He repeated. "I-I've never even been with a girl before, like that. I want you to be my first."

She stared at him, askance. His perplexed look, his eyes so large, so vibrantly green against his dark lashes, made her heart flutter.  
Was he telling the truth?  
Could he truly be a virgin? Not some sexy, crime lord gigolo?

Arthur's turbulent emotions were getting the better of him, but the lingering arousal had yet to dissipate. His body had naturally responded to their fevered embrace, and even now, under the bedclothes, it was blatantly obvious that he was hard.

Naturally (y/n) would choose that precise moment to glance in the vicinity of his cock, and her eyes rounded like dinner plates.

"What?" He demanded, his cheeks reddening. "Don't look so surprised, this is what you do to me. You are a beautiful woman. Stunning even. Warm, and soft, and curves in all the right places--"

"Stop it." She managed, weakly.

Arthur willed her to come to him. Silently he urged her to come closer, so he could make his dreams a reality.

But (y/n) was trembling with mortification.  
At least, she told herself it was mortification.  
How could she dare feel pleasure from his explicit proclamations?  
She daren't allow herself to respond with desire and need, to the erotic sight of his erection.

"Y-you need to go to sleep, Arthur."

Glaring at the carpet, Arthur turned his face away. The gnawing need to satiate his lust threatening to eat him alive.

"Fine." He snapped, having no choice other than to accept her rejection.

But damn, it hurt like a bastard. 

* * *

Eventually Arthur had fallen asleep, and (y/n) had dozed in the chair.

She was uncomfortable and exhausted, but her jangling nerves made it impossible to relax properly.

Reality was catching up with her now. The seriousness of what she had done, aiding Arthur in his escape.  
There was a strong possibility that she'd lose her job. If the police questioned the night staff, someone was bound to tell them that a nurse had taken him off the ward in a wheelchair, for a scan that he hadn't been scheduled to have.

And yet, she'd been fully aware of the risks before she'd made the decision to help him.  
An inexplicable recklessness had overcome all sense and reason, and driven her to take such a huge risk.

God, what was it about the clown that made her so powerless to resist him?  
Well, she had resisted his advances, merely because she was concerned for his well being. He was recovering from severe concussion after all.  
And, perhaps she'd resisted in order to prove to him that she still held a modicum of self-control. She may have assisted him in his escape, but to succumb to his charms too soon might mean that he'd get the wrong idea about her.

(y/n) wasn't in the habit of sleeping with strange men that she'd only just met, and you couldn't get much stranger than Arthur Fleck.  
He was unhinged, potentially volatile, and most definitely the type her parents would consider a 'bad boy'

But it was this wildness that appealed to her, as well as his gentler, softer side.  
With someone like Arthur, you got two for the price of one; a man who could do both, and she found that immensely alluring.

She watched him sleeping for a while. His dark brows drawn together, it upset her to see he was in pain even in his sleep.  
Whether or not it was physical pain or emotional, she couldn't be sure.  
Because although he was now admired by many, there was obviously still a loneliness that tormented him.

He wanted someone. Someone to love, and to love him in return.

Pressing a hand to his forehead, she checked for any signs of fever. Brushing his emerald curls from his handsome face, she allowed her fingers to linger a moment longer than what would be deemed necessary.  
His hair was silky, his skin warm but not hot.

God, he was so frustratingly beautiful, it stole the breath from her lungs.

As dawn began to break she took herself off into the shower, eager to feel the warm jets of water cleansing her aching body.

She stayed there longer than she usually did, her thoughts elsewhere as she washed her (h/c) hair, and lathered herself with her favourite scented soap.

The sound of the water bouncing off the tiled wall hindered her ability to hear, and the moisture in the steam-filled room fogged up the glass of the shower screen.  
So when she finally turned off the shower, and reached for a towel, she almost leaped right out of her skin when she saw the smudged outline of Arthur, leaning idly against the doorframe.

"Jesus! W-what...what the hell are you doing?" She shrieked.

"Standing." He said, grinning, hoping she wouldn't see the trembling of his legs. 

Heaving himself upright out of the bed without any assistance had really put a strain on him, and he was already feeling lethargic.  
But the trembling wasn't caused by mere lethargy.

"I can see that." She replied dryly, hastily wrapping the towel around herself. The embarrassment she felt was evident in the hot glow of her cheeks, but she had to try and defer the attention away from herself. "That was stupid of you, Arthur. You could have fallen!"

"I've survived worse."

"Perhaps, but that's not the point. You need to rest, and.."

"What I need...is a shower." He interrupted, dragging his eyes across her scantily clad body. "Will you help me?"

(y/n) stared, looking for all the world as though she'd never seen him before.

"I-I think you should be able to manage, as long as you're quick."

Stepping out of the cubicle, she turned the shower back on, her face burning in shame. How long had he been standing there, while she was blissfully ignorant of his presence? How much of her had he seen?

"Don't try to leave the room without me. I don't want you leaving yourself in a mangled pile by the door. Just....shout me once you're done. There's fresh towels on the rail there." She told him.

Arthur was being alarmingly quiet, but she tried not to pay too much notice. All she wanted was to escape the bathroom with what shred of dignity she still had in tact, before she evaporated along with all the moisture in the room.

He nodded mechanically. Incapable of forming any more words. His stormy green eyes were glued to her, but he was forced to look elsewhere once she'd hurriedly left the room.

"Oh, God....please, make it stop!" He groaned quietly to himself under his breath, willing his arousal away as he undid the hospital gown, and stepped under the warm jets of water.

He cursed his weakness. The sight of (y/n) naked and wet, and glistening, was burnt into his memory, and it was every bit as enticing as it had been in his dream.  
He groaned again in frustration, raking his long fingers through his wet hair. The urge to resort to pleasuring himself in order to release his sexual tension, was tempting, but he knew it wouldn't suffice.

He wanted her.

Back in the bedroom, (y/n) had become temporarily distracted with finding Arthur something to wear. It hadn't occurred to her before that he wouldn't want to slip back into the grubby hospital gown.  
She knew she owned a pair of grey sweatpants, which ought to fit him easily, and beggars couldn't afford to be choosers.

After locating them on the shelf in her closet, and a plain white T.shirt, she gathered them up, with the intention of leaving them inside the bathroom on the counter by the sink. 

Was it wrong of her to go into the bathroom whilst he was taking a shower?  
Absolutely.  
But it wasn't enough to deter her.  
On the contrary, she rather relished the idea of getting even.   
Of stealing a glance at him naked through the steamed-up shower screen.  
The steam would hide his modesty in the most part, she reasoned, so he'd have no cause to be affronted.

Bracing herself, (y/n) took a deep breath, and with a trembling hand, pushed open the door.

The sound of cascading water immediately filled her ears, along with other, more distinctly erotic sounds.  
Low grunts and groans emanating from the shower.

Was he...? No. Surely not. Well, he might be.

He was.

Arthur was stood, resting one hand against the tiles, the other...curled around the base of his hard, impressive cock; steadily moving back and forth, jerking himself off.

She was so shocked she could do nothing but stare.  
Stare at the way his eyes were squeezed tightly shut, his mouth hanging slightly open as pleasure consumed him.

It was undeniably erotic, and a strangely beautiful sight.

She watched as his wrist worked faster, low moans...and then...her name, falling from his lips in ragged, desperate pants.

(y/n) pressed her thighs together, feeling arousal pool between her legs.

She wanted to go on watching, but hearing him moan her name was enough to undo her.

"A-Arthur?"

He froze, his hand slowly falling away from his swollen length.  
She stood holding her breath as he turned his head cautiously to look at her.  
He didn't move. Just stood watching her. Through the shrouds of steam his eyes locked into hers. Green irises burnt into (y/n), warming her face and moving along her spine, and into the sudden weakness of her knees.

"S-sorry." He stammered, sounding decidedly timid. "I'm guessing you won't want to be near me now. Now that you know what a disgusting pervert I am."

"You're...you're not a pervert." She managed, slightly breathlessly. "It's only natural to have, um, sexual urges. Everybody has them."

Turning the shower off, leaving his slender body still covered in patches of soapy foam, he turned to face her fully. His large erection rising proudly, defying gravity.

"Do you?"

She nodded nervously, feeling the sudden urge to throw caution to the wind.  
She was tired of being sensible.   
That's why she'd rescued him in the first place.  
She wanted to live.

"I....I'm having them right now."

Arthur's cock twitched uncontrollably, excitement rushing through his body at the prospect.  
Was she coming on to him?  
He didn't have a clue how any of this worked, he was so painfully inexperienced.

"Yeah?" He stepped out of the cubicle and stood before her, shamelessly naked in all his glory. "D'you think maybe I could....help you out with that?"

She gave a brittle laugh, her nerves starting to get the better of her. "Well, y-you are the cause, Arthur."

"I-I am?"

"Yes. God, yes! I want you."

Heart thudding in his throat, Arthur closed the distance between them so quickly it left her breathless. He enfolded her in his wiry arms, feeling the rapid turn of her breathing as he pulled her against the solid expanse of his wet chest.

This was so unlike her, but she found herself kissing him first. A shy movement of mouth and tongue, tantalised his.

His large hands worked quickly to loosen her towel, and it dropped around her ankles in a pool of soft, white linen.   
His heart flipped in his chest. Her tongue the very centre of his existence, the sensual thrill drove him over the edge of some spiralling, convulsing pleasure, and he hadn't even climaxed yet.

"Oh, fuck! You're driving me crazy, baby girl!" He rasped, as he rocked against her pelvis; throbbing and eager to bury himself deep inside of her.

"Mhm, daddy!" 

Daddy.

This was unexpected, and he really liked it.   
He liked it a lot.  
It made him feel powerful, as if he was finally fully in control of something at last.  
Of someone.

The pressure of his mouth, the touch of his flesh on hers, drove (y/n) wild.  
The way he touched her with an unexpected tenderness, taking her breasts in a firm roll of his palms, tentatively kneading her flesh and teasing her nipples, made her gasp soundlessly.

She trembled, naked and defenceless before him, and she loved it.

"You make me so hard, baby girl. Are you gonna give daddy some sugar?"

His mouth became more demanding, and as if overcome by instinct he twisted them both around so that he could bump her up onto the edge of the counter. 

"Aah, take me daddy. I want to feel you inside me." She whimpered helplessly, as she wrapped her legs around his waist and gave in to his need, his demand.

"Wait w-wait. Wait a second!" He pulled away, cautious. "This isn't real is it?" 

She blinked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean...you can't actually really want this. Want me." He began to back away, expecting her to just vanish, leaving him more frustrated, and lost than ever.

"Oh, I'm real." Her sultry voice drew him back. "And I want you, daddy. The truth is...I've had a bit of a crush on you since I first saw you on TV."

She couldn't believe she was admitting this to him.  
Perhaps she was just as crazy as he was. The man was a murderer.   
But damn it, it was thrilling. She needed this.  
They both needed each other.

"Shit. I fucking love you, and I wanna do so much with you--" The last word dissolved into a deep growl, as her fingers coiled around his hard length, urging him to enter her.

"Aren't I meant to touch you first?" He paused, delaying penetration. "You know like...foreplay...before we--?"

"No, not now. I don't need that, I just need you!" She exclaimed, her voice becoming strained and hoarse.

Her eagerness almost made him come right then and there, and he knew he ought to calm himself down a little, if he wanted to avoid disappointing her.  
So he asserted himself in the only way he knew how...

"You need to slow down, baby girl. And let daddy take good care of you. Okay?"

"O-okay."

"Okay...what?" 

"Okay daddy." She closed her eyes, lost to the hot desire of his skin pressed against hers. The heat of him penetrating to the very core.

"Mhm. There's a good girl."

Nuzzling into her neck, Arthur kissed and sucked at her (s/c) skin, as if marking her as his. (y/n) gasped as he slid an exploratory finger deep inside her womanly heat, curling it slightly, working in and out just like he'd done in his dream.

"Aah, that feels so good, daddy."

He kissed her and kissed her, everywhere. Along the side of her face, behind her ear, along her neck, and between the middle valley of her breasts. It was only his mouth upon her skin, so small a pressure to have so much power.

And what power.

(y/n) gasped, and trembled, and squirmed against his hand as the world fell down around her. As she climaxed far quicker than she'd ever done before.

Arthur's chest swelled with gratification, and his cock swelled with anticipation.

He'd succeeded in pleasuring her, now if he came too quickly at least she wouldn't be too unsatisfied.

But he also wanted to worship every inch of her exquisite body.  
Every inch of her was perfection in his eyes, and he couldn't keep his hands off her.

"God, you're beautiful." He muttered as he fell to his knees, his lips caressing her thigh. He kissed upwards, leaving no red stains from his face paint. He wasn't wearing any, and yet he felt just as bold as he did with it.

He was Joker, and he didn't need greasepaint or a red suit to prove it.  
He knew who he was.  
She knew who he was.  
And she wanted him.

"Oh shit, daddy!" (y/n) wheezed, as Arthur's hot tongue began to devour her like a starved beast. 

Out of instinct her hands found their way to his hair, pulling slightly, her legs almost closing around his head as she rocked against his mouth, moaning his name.

"D-daddy...please..." She begged, shamelessly. "Fuck me. Your baby girl wants you to fuck her...so badly!"

Within an instant, Arthur was back on his feet. "Oh, baby. Daddy's gonna fuck you so hard!" 

Out of excitement, he pulled her off the counter and turned her around, bending her over the sink.

Hell yes, (y/n) thought, arching back into him, feeling his erection pressing against her ass.

She'd never wanted, never needed, anyone like this before.  
He was like a fever she was learning to live with.

Pushing her legs further apart, Arthur grasped her waist tightly and thrust himself into her scorching, wet sex. "Holy....fuck-!" He groaned, not stopping until he was fully inside her.

To his delight (y/n) cried out, and gripped onto the side of the counter, overwhelmed by the unimagined strength of his arousal.

"T-tell me...if I hurt you...baby."

She smiled to herself.  
Joker. Arthur. So sweet, so concerned. So caring.  
And so utterly sexy.

"Oh, daddy! Please, I don't want you to stop." She urged, rocking her hips encouragingly.

Arthur pulled back, then easily slid back in; her pussy so tight and wet it would have made him come immediately if he wasn't so determined to make this last.

(y/n) delighted in the sensation of pleasure edged with pain, and the sense of being filled by him completely. He moved again, a long, slow withdrawal, and pleasure surged through her.

"Call me daddy again." He gasped, grinding the words out as he thrust in and out of her, faster, harder, deeper.

"Oh daddy! Daddy!" She keened, blissfully enjoying the sounds of his moaning, and bare skin slapping against bare skin, as he increased his pace even further, until her teeth practically rattled in her head.

"Yes! That's it, baby. Come for daddy." 

(y/n) opened her eyes, and looked at him in the mirror above the sink. Watching as he fucked her. The way his jaw clenched, head lolling back, eyes sliding shut; she found his pleasurable expressions magnificently erotic.

And then his eyes dauntingly met hers in the reflection, startling her somewhat.   
But as unsettling as it was maintaining eye contact, she couldn't deny it was seriously hot. 

His body was hard and lean, as his arms locked around her from behind, as he stared at her in the mirror, creating new tension and urgency in the mounting friction of his movements. 

"Does this feel good, baby girl?"

"O-oh, fuck-- yes!" 

A heady wave of tingling pleasure ripped through her body, and she felt as if she'd come apart at the seams.

His final, desperate thrusts grew less fluid, as Arthur neared his peak too, pushing his hips into her so he could be as deep as possible.

"Fucking, ah! S-shit! (y/n)!" He came with fierce, lucid force; shuddering and crying out her name.

"A-Arthur. Oh my god...!"

"P-please.....please tell me I'm not dreaming." His legs were shaking badly as he leaned over her, so his tattered breath tickled her ear. "Please tell me....I'm not imagining this." 

"This is all real, my love." She giggled, reaching up so she could caress the back of his neck. "I'm real."

"Did you just call me...your love?" 

(y/n) hesitated briefly, considering her next words carefully. 

"Yes. I..think I could love you, Arthur. If i don't already. Is that...okay with you? Me loving you? I want to. I want to love you and take care of you."

Smiling moronically as he feathered kisses along the curve of her shoulder, Arthur didn't need to think twice before replying...

"Is it okay with me? (y/n), honestly, it would be fucking fantastic. I meant everything I said. You're my princess. We'll get ourselves a beautiful palace out in the country, away from Gotham. You'll love it, baby. I promise I'm gonna take good care of you too."

"I'm sure I will, love." She smiled, turning to kiss him. "And I know you will."

And somehow, she did know. As if by instinct.

And Arthur, kissed his princess again. Feeling happier, calmer, and safer than he'd ever dared imagine he could be.

Safe in the knowledge that sometimes, dreams could indeed come true.

End


	35. Lessons In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a request; set in an alternate reality, Arthur is a college professor and you're his wayward student. In this he's learned to control his laughing condition (to some extent) along with his rebellious 'Joker' instincts. This is also the only oneshot I've written so far that isn't set in 1981 like the movie; hence the use of modern tech that's mentioned.   
> Hope,you enjoy! 
> 
> ************************************

\--1st person POV--

I chew at a fast pace, not at all nervous, but rather trying to be deliberately obnoxious. I'm sitting slouched at my desk; burning holes through his head with my retinas, anticipating his next move as he flips through the paperwork on....I don't know, some philosophy crap. 

Like I give a shit what it is.

I look at the clock on the wall and let out a breath of annoyance. I could be chugging a beer right about now, hanging out with my friends in the late afternoon sunshine, not sitting here waiting for professor Fleck to give me a lecture on bad behaviour.

Okay, admittedly I do not pay attention in class, but that's because I don't want to be here. 

Once there was a time when I did give a shit, when I decided to major in philosophy because I wanted to be a critic; specialising in movies because they've always been able to provoke a strong response from me, and negative criticism is my forte.

But...well, let's just say I quickly became disenchanted with my studies last year. I started to feel like I was wasting my life stuck in school, and after a lot of soul searching I came to the conclusion that I was only still attending Gotham State University to please my parents. 

If I had it my way I would've dropped out long ago, and the way I've been feeling lately; I think I still might. The only thing keeping me here really in all honesty, is the thrill I get from raising hell in class. Without sounding too arrogant, I'm really quite popular, so others follow my example, much to the teachers dismay.

Take professor Fleck for example; he's a mild-mannered pushover, a dorky guy who's pushing middle age, and it's oh so easy to poke fun at him and get away with it.   
And I can get away with it mostly under the pretence of 'debating', seeing as this is philosophy class.

Professor Arthur Fleck is still pretty new, he only took the job at this collage after spring break, but I'll bet he's already regretting it. You can tell by the way he drags his hand over his face; a sure sign of exasperation if ever I saw one. I reckon if this class carries on the way it does he'll suffer a mental breakdown before thanksgiving weekend, and be forced to take time off.

If that seems malicious then I guess that's just the person I am now.  
He's a philosophy professor for gods sake, he should have more of a backbone.  
A part of me almost feels sorry for the guy, because I was once like him, well, kind of.  
I was too polite and accommodating, and what happened? 

People walked all over me.

Then I took a stand. I guess something snapped inside of me, and I realised enough was enough. This is who I am now, I don't tolerate any bullshit from anyone, and I'm living a better life for it. I'm popular in school, the bullies have left me alone, and my parents are getting what they deserve for trying to dictate what I can and cannot do, even though I'm (y/a) years old now.

Sure my grades are suffering, but who cares? Certainly not me, and Fleck shouldn't either. I mean, what does it matter to him really? Like keeping me behind now, wouldn't he rather be home doing...whatever guys his age do, rather than being stuck in the classroom with me?

If he's going to give me a lecture then he might as well save his breath. I'm a lost cause, and I want to be. It's my choice. My god given right.

But I highly doubt he will read me the riot act, I don't think the guy has it in him. I've never so much as heard him raise his voice to anyone.

Growing steadily more bored and agitated, I pop a bubble, and he glances up for a second, indicating the 'take out the gum face' routine that usually follows.  
But professor Fleck always gives up, as I always point blank refuse to spit it out, and it's not as if he can physically force me to.

"Miss (l/n), you do know why you're here?" He asks me instead, in that low, slightly raspy voice that's so soft it could put you to sleep....especially when he's droning on endlessly about Plato or Karl Marx.

I rest my chin in my hand, ensuring he knows how thoroughly bored I am.

"'Cause you don't have anything better to do?"

His strong jaw perceptibly tightens. "No. We need to discuss your paper." 

As he pulls my paper from the file I brazenly smirk at him.  
We were all meant to write a paper on the philosopher of our choice and present our reasons for finding their work most compelling.  
I instead chose to write a paper on how pointless I think the subject is, complete with my reasons why this class bores me to tears; including Fleck himself.

Although...I couldn't resist throwing in for good measure how it's a pity he isn't more interesting, because he's quite attractive.

And he is, in an unconventional sort of way.  
I mean, he's no hunk that's for sure, and he's in his thirties; which makes him at least ten to fifteen years older than me, but with those pretty green eyes, brown hair streaked with grey, and sharp cheekbones; he's undeniably handsome.

Not that I would ever admit it to any of my peers. Shit. They'd never let me live it down.

But admitting it to professor Fleck himself is a different matter. As I typed it out I could just envisage him all flustered and embarrassed.  
I couldn't resist wanting to rile him, and it obviously has...

"Miss (l/n), this is unacceptable." He continues, throwing the paper down on his desk, probably in disgust. "You blatantly disregarded the instructions I gave you."

I eye him steadily, my gaze unwavering. "Awe, I thought you would have found it compelling, sir. After all, I've presented a valid argument. I figured you'd want to counter my opinions with a response."

He stares at me, the muscles in his face flexing with irritation. "I won't dignify your opinions with a response, Miss (l/n). You were meant to write a paper on--"

"I know what I was supposed to do." I interrupt him, rolling my eyes. "But what you asked me to do doesn't interest me. Seriously, didn't you read what I wrote?"

"You seem to be under some misapprehension. The rules apply to you also, Miss (l/n). I didn't merely ask you to write the paper....I told you to."

I resume my churlish chewing and blow up another bubble, which makes an even louder popping sound. He is now officially annoyed.   
Well, now he knows how I feel.

"Miss (l/n) would you please take out that gum." He commands, as if he could.

I ignore him for several long seconds, revelling in his annoyance.

"Well, Miss (l/n)?" He orders, this time much firmer. Never in that tone before.

"And put it where, Artie?" I ask, tauntingly. 

Up his damn ass, is where I would like to shove it. But there probably wouldn't be any room for it, seeing as he seems to have a gigantic stick up there already.

"That's Mister Fleck to you, young lady. How about you put it on your damn forehead since I've had to ask you twice." He retorts, angrily.

Wow. He actually looks serious enough not to mess with.

"Or how about I just keep it here?" I open my mouth, showing the pink bubblegum on my tongue. "If you just let me go now I'll simply drop it in a bin on my way out, okay?"

He bends his head a little, shaking it in what appears to be frustration at my disobedience.

"I've got better things I could be doing right now. It isn't my fault if you have nothing worth going home for, Artie." I smile defiantly, looking up at the ceiling as I blow yet another bubble.

In a flash he rises, grabbing hold of the wastepaper basket by his desk, and I don't notice the pen he uses to burst the gum with; almost stabbing me in the lip.

"Remove it." His voice is always low but it sounds immensely rougher; like a lion getting ready to tear it's prey apart.

I am stunned, and admittedly intimidated by the fury which engulfs his emerald eyes.

"There's no need to get so uptight." I state, rebellious to the last. "It's just stupid gum you know."

He stares me down, making me flinch in my seat.

"Just stupid gum you say? I suppose everything's just stupid to you, (y/n). It makes me wonder why you and those imbeciles you associate yourself with, even bother to show up to my class if you don't want to learn anything." 

Imbeciles? Now I am seriously pissed. I might be acting up like a brat but that was hardly professional of him.

"Wow, I didn't know you were capable of being informal. So you do know someone's first name, I feel honoured." I lightly chuckle at his outburst despite being really pissed. "And it's pretty simple, sir. Some of your students are rich kids that don't require any college education whatsoever, because they have handsome trust funds, their parents force them into school despite their disinterest in it." I tilt my chin upwards in defiance, indicating that I'm one of those persons.

He raises an eyebrow. "From what potential I've seen in you, a person who doesn't apply herself to anything, I can't imagine what career you think you can achieve."

His insult catches me off guard. I've never verbally sparred like this with any of my teachers; on such a personal level. And in all honesty I haven't given a career much consideration.

I used to have dreams, goals, that was until I grew tired of trying to live up to my parents unrealistic expectations.   
I wanted to be a critic, but I've been toying with the idea of acting in movies now rather than critiquing them. That would be a sure fire way to piss my parents off.

"I intend on becoming an actress."

He snorts derisively. "So you're just going to be another college drop-out chasing the Hollywood fantasy. Your parents must be so proud."

I jump up, almost knocking my chair over. His words having struck a nerve.  
How dare he judge me. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know anything about my life, or what my parents are like.  
I've been insulted by many people, but never a professor, and I'm not prepared to take it from this one.

Grabbing my bag I stomp over to the door, barely containing my anger.

"I don't recall dismissing you young lady."

I stop abruptly at the door and revert my face to him, popping another bubble for sheer devilment.

"Fuck you, Mister Fleck! You can get me expelled for failing to meet your academic standards, but I don't have to take this shit from you. I'm done with taking shit from people."

"Yet you expect me to take it from you?"

"That's your problem if you're willing to tolerate it. But just because you have no balls and let everyone walk all over you, you don't have to take it out on me, Artie. I have a backbone, even if you don't." I sneer, turning to twist the doorknob. 

Screw this. I don't have to stay and take his useless scolding.

A large hand suddenly slams the door shut, and I feel warm, heavy breathing against my neck.

"Look at me....I said look at me you obnoxious little bitch!" He barks with each furious breath, causing my heart to jump.

I turn around, and to my utter shock find an almost completely different man. 

His hair is pushed back off his face, his cheekbones squeezing tightly in pure fury. His usually soft eyes are dark, hooded, and glistening with menace.   
Professor Fleck suddenly looks like a serial killer who will reach for his weapon at any second and murder me.

Call me crazy but he actually seems really hot. 

I feel a chill deep inside me and my knees begin to tremble at his cold gaze.  
The sensations are too much; fear trickles down my spine, but a warmth floods low down in my belly.

His large hands are placed on either side of the door, his tall body crowding me back, trapping me. I want to push him away and grasp him closer, all at the same time.

"Give me that fucking gum!" He spits.

My heart starts to race with nerves, then suddenly he slides a hand behind my neck....and kisses me.

He takes my mouth so hungrily I almost fear he's going to bite off my lips.

Fuck.   
This man can kiss. 

I can't even compare it to none of the timid, half-assed kisses, or frantic kisses I'm used to from college boys. It is so beyond compare.  
He knows what he's doing. His confidence is addicting. Reassuring. Possessing.

Instead of fighting him off, I surrender myself to him.  
What is wrong with me? I shouldn't permit this outrageous behaviour, I ought to shove him away and run from the room.

But I don't.

Instead I impulsively wrap my arms around his neck, and run my hands into his hair, suppressing the urge to moan as he takes my face in the palm of his hands; holding me in place so he can slip his velvety tongue inside my mouth, searchingly.

And I'm afraid I might melt, he feels so good.

But then, just as quickly as it began, it ends.

He breaks the kiss, leaving me dizzy with a burning need. I don't want to let go. I want him to take me in his surprisingly strong arms.

I gasp as he backs away slowly, sticking his sinful tongue out at me with triumphant satisfaction; displaying my gum on the tip of it.

My eyes widen in shock at what he's just done. Maybe it was all a perverse dream and I'll wake up at any moment. If it weren't for his slightly dishevelled hair, I wouldn't believe that my professor actually just kissed me....in order to steal my gum.

And I had kissed him back 

"What's this?" He reaches out and snatches the tip of my chin, making me blanch. "For once that smart mouth of yours is mute."

I continue to stare at him in stunned silence as he retreats back to his desk with a noticeable swagger. As he sits down he deliberately meets my gaze, and has the nerve to openly chew the very gum that he reprimanded me for.

But damn, he looks so seductive. So godlike.  
Who is he?  
Certainly not the same geeky professor I've practically ignored for the past few months.

"Get yourself together and leave. I have papers to grade tonight." He says plainly, his voice cool and emotionless.

The surprise and hurt those words cause makes me want to yell at him in outrage. I want to demand an explanation, an apology...another kiss.

I watch open-mouthed as he kicks back in his chair, resting his feet on the desk, one ankle crossed nonchalantly over the other.

My blood is pumping frantically, raging hormones and lust threatens to consume me.

"S-so....that's it? You're not going to tell me what that was all about?" I manage, my voice quavering slightly.

He looks up from his papers, and has the audacity to blow a bubble with the gum, in order to emphasise his point . "I'd have thought it was pretty obvious Miss (l/n). If you won't play by the rules.....then I'm not going to either."

I swallow, feeling heat flood my face. "And what if....what if I like it? You not playing by the rules. What then?"

Swivelling in the chair, he proceeds to spit the gum out into the wastepaper basket.

"Then I guess....you could use my bad behaviour as an incentive. " He smirks, looking every bit the devil he seems. "If you listen in class, drop the attitude and obey me...then I'll make it worth your while."

Wait. Did he just proposition me?  
This situation couldn't possibly get any more surreal.  
I should tell him to go screw himself, I normally would, but it's like he's weaved some dark magic spell over me, and I'm suddenly powerless against his domineering attitude.  
An attitude I never even realised he had.

"You can start by rewriting your paper. I want it on my desk by tomorrow." He's saying now, as he rummages around in his desk drawer for something. "Here...you might find Carl Jung and his philosophy on the shadow diverting enough to hold your attention."

He pulls out a book, and tosses it to me, so I have to scramble forwards in order to catch it before it lands on the floor.

I look down at the cover and see that it's a book on Carl Jung. "But....it says here he was a psychiatrist, not a philosopher."

"Didn't I just say I'm not playing by the rules anymore?" He smirks, but his voice remains stern. "You're now dismissed, Miss (l/n)."

Without waiting to see if he so much as gives me another glance, I gather up my bag, stuff the book into it hastily, and scurry out of the room.

The hallways are pretty much deserted as I run for the nearest bathroom, and I'm thankful for it. I don't think I'd be capable of holding a conversation right now.  
Once inside I rinse my face with the cold, harsh water, and snatch a paper towel to dab it with.

Standing here supporting myself against the sink, I gaze into the mirror, and hardly recognise the girl I see. My feathers have been well and truly ruffled. My carefully cultivated indolent, calm, cool composure has crumbled to dust.

My (h/c) hair is a ruffled mess, my cheeks flaming out of control; like a child that's just had her first crush.

I draw some more paper towels and smoothed down my hair, before heading out of the bathroom and towards the front door of the building.  
Maybe some fresh air will help clear my head.

The walk to my dorm passes by in a blur, my thoughts still trying to make sense of what just occurred between me and my philosopher teacher.

When I reach my room I'm relieved to find it empty. My roommate Lauren is no doubt out with her boyfriend. We get on really well, Lauren and I, we share the same tastes in music and movies, and I definitely consider her a friend. So it's not that I don't want to see her. I just can't face seeing anybody right now. I'm way too antsy; my thoughts and emotions are in turmoil.

Any other day I would pull out my phone and call one of my friend's to see where they were at, and see if they wanted to go hang out by the lake.  
That's usually how we spend our time on weekday evenings.   
It's nice down by the lake. It isn't that far off campus and there's always groups of kids down there; listening to music on their phones, chilling out smoking cigarettes and having a couple of beers.

But tonight I don't do that. 

Tonight I lay down on my bed and open the book Mr Fleck gave me, my interest piqued.

I'm sorely tempted to text my friend (f/n) and tell her what happened, but I refrain. What would I even say to her? That I sassed Professor Fleck and he retaliated by taking my gum from me with his tongue?   
I know exactly what she'd say, once she was over the shock that is. She'd urge me to report him. To file a complaint.  
And I don't want to do that. 

God only knows why, but I want to see him tomorrow. To go to his class and see if anything so risqué happens again between us. To observe the look on his face when I turn in my paper, which he more than likely isn't expecting me to do, but I'm determined to prove him wrong.

>>\----------------------------------->>

The "shadow" is a concept first written about by the famous psychiatrist Carl Jung, that describes those aspects of our personality that we choose to reject and repress.   
For one reason or another, we all have parts of ourselves that we don't like—or that we think society won't like—so we push those parts down into our unconscious psyches.

Hm. It seems too coincidental that Mr Fleck suggested I read more about it.

That side I saw of him in the classroom; was that the darker, more daring and dangerous side of his personality clawing it's way to the surface?  
I think it was.

Then it got me to thinking about my own darker side.  
Have I already embraced it and allowed it to take over my entire personality?  
I used to be so much more agreeable. Less obnoxious and aggressive.  
Now I'm starting to question who is the real me.   
It's like I don't know anymore.

"Shit." I curse under my breath, struggling to enter the combination on my locker while juggling four textbooks. 

Thank god I'm finally able to unlock it after five minutes of struggling, and stuff the books in. I had no idea literary arts involved so much reading.  
Where the hell am I going to find the time to read even one of those books, when I have such an active social life, and I may or may not choose to binge read as many philosophy books as I can, if I'm going to stay on Mr Fleck's good side....

Or is it his bad side I want to be on?

I glance in the small mirror that's hooked inside of my locker; smoothing my hands over my hair. I apply some raspberry lipgloss, which matches with the laces in my converse, and adjust my baggy sweatshirt so that it hangs loosely off one shoulder.  
Whether I like it or not, I find myself wanting to look my best for my next class, and there's no way I can deny it.

I close my locker, and then out of nowhere someone creeps up behind me; placing their hands on my waist. For a moment my heart skips a beat at a wild guess of who it could be. Until I hear an annoying sniffing sound.

Evan. He's cute and all, but he has the worst habit of not blowing his nose.

Using my elbow I swing it back into his side, effectively causing him to withdraw.

"Ouch! Damn, (y/n), what's your problem?" He protests, making a bigger deal of it than what it is.

"That's what you get for invading my personal space, you dick." I say, but not unpleasantly. "You shouldn't sneak up on a girl like that. If you'd have made me jump it would've been much worse, trust me."

He snickers and shakes his head, leaning the back of his arm on the locker above me.  
He's a couple of inches taller than me, but he's not as tall as professor Fleck.

Wait.

Am I doing the whole comparing thing now?  
Shit. That's not a good sign.

"I didn't see you at the lake last night." Evan drawls, rather blatantly looking me up and down.

"Well yeah, I guess you wouldn't...seeing as I wasn't there."

He huffs, not hiding his irritation. "Very funny. Why didn't you come down? I was hoping to see you."

I set off walking and he quickly falls into step beside me.   
Evan is in Mr Fleck's class too, and he's been subtly trying to hit on me for a while now, and I've been brushing him off until very recently. I've given it some thought and reached the conclusion that he is potential boyfriend material. So I've told him I'll consider going on a date with him.  
It makes sense to I guess, as I find him attractive enough.  
It's just that now, well, I don't know.

"I was uh, busy." I respond to him vaguely, not wanting to admit that I'd actually been studying for once.

I know he'd poke ten shades of fun out of me for it, and as pathetic as it is, I have a reputation to protect. I'm not the sort of girl who follows rules or studies hard. Mostly I wing it these days, and I've still managed to make it this far.

Evan hovers over me, getting under my feet a little as we enter the classroom.

"Oh yeah? Busy doing what?"

"That's my business." I reply coyly, as I slip my paper on Carl Jung out of my bag, and drop it onto Professor Fleck's desk as casually as possible.

He isn't here yet, and for once I take a seat before he arrives, when usually I'd be sitting on a desk, chattering and laughing along with everyone else.

"Hey there, badass." Kayleigh greets me as she takes the seat next to mine, her manicured fingers working frantically over the touchscreen of her iPhone. "I can't believe Fleck kept you behind last night. Holy shit, you must've done something serious to piss him off! He's so laid back he's practically horizontal."

I force a weak smile, and shrug noncommittally. "You know me, Kae. There isn't a teacher yet that I haven't managed to piss off. My reputation as the most disruptive student in school has been well earned, you know." 

She laughs, frowning slightly, her concentration still focused mostly on her phone.

"If Dean thinks he can ignore my messages all day again, then he can go fuck himself." 

"Oh yeah, about that..." I reach into the pocket of my jeans and pull out my phone. "Have you seen the picture Cameron took last night at the lake? You can see Dean in the background making out with some random."

"Are you shitting me?"

I shake my head, scrolling through my pictures, searching for the incriminating evidence of her on/off boyfriend's sketchy behaviour.

Just then Evan comes over, hopping up onto my desk, having overheard the conversation.

"No shit, (y/n), are you showing her the picture? Man, you're brutal."

"No I'm being a good friend, Evan. Kae has a right to know if Dean's cheating on her, and I'd rather be the one to have to break it to her than her see it on Instagram later."

As I'm too distracted by Evan, who's also blocking my view of the door, I don't see Mr Fleck coming into the room. 

The sound of his voice makes me start a little, as he urges everyone to their seats.  
He doesn't even apologise for being late like he usually would.

I sit frozen in my seat, becoming uncharacteristically quiet. 

He begins jotting down some quote on the board while everyone resumes chatting, as if his presence wasn't even acknowledged.  
How rude, I think to myself, before internally screaming.  
What am I now, a fucking teachers pet?

"Awe, you're real sweet (y/n)." Evan joked, leaning down closer to me. "Underneath that tough exterior you're just a big 'old softie aren't cha. Who knew?"

"Not you, obviously." I retort, trying to make casual conversation but for some reason I'm just not in the mood.

"Then we need to get to know each other better, right?" He says, grinning at me.

We both jump in surprise at the loud coughing coming from behind Evan.

Shit. Professor Fleck stands there, looking more pissed than anyone in the class has ever seen him before.

"To your seat now, Jenkins." He grinds the words out, impaling Evan with his fierce glare.

"Whoa, take it easy sir. I was just checking on my girl here." Evan replies in his juvenile tone.

Why the hell did he have to say that?

"Idiot, I'm nobody's girl." I hurl at him as he hops off the desk, which elicits a ripple of laughter from the rest of the class.

Mr Fleck glances down at me, striking fear into my guts, then turns his attention back to Evan.

"If you want to check on somebody do it after class. Now either you sit your damn ass down or get out."

Evan flinches due to the severity of his tone, and scurries back to his seat like a frightened puppy.

"And that goes for the rest of you." Professor Fleck barks, barely suppressing his rage. "I wanna hear some peace and quiet for once, otherwise you can ditch this class. If you're not interested in learning then don't waste my time."

Everyone is stunned into silence, gaping at him in disbelief.

"Miss (l/n), I see you're still refusing to adhere to school policy. No cell phones in the classroom." He shouts at me, making me jittery.

I'd completely forgotten that I'd been holding my phone the entire time, and before I have chance to react his large hand swoops down and snatches it out of my grasp.

"S-sorry sir." I stutter, which is so unlike me.

"You'll get this back at the end of class, if you behave."

As he heads around his desk I see his eyes instinctively glance down at the phone.  
My stomach drops as I realise I'd been scrolling through my photos, and the one left open, now clearly visible for him to see, is a selfie I took of myself wearing....well, hardly a lot.

I'm not one for taking those types of selfies, but I was drunk at the time and was playing truth or dare with some of the girls, and they'd dared me to send a provocative picture to my former crush, Adam Laing, and I'm not one to back out of a dare.

How fucking embarrassing.   
I knew I should've deleted that picture. In fact that's what I'd been contemplating doing when I'd found it in my album, having previously forgotten all about it.

Mr Fleck throws my phone into his top drawer carelessly, and for a brief moment he looks up and meets my eyes, and I feel something in me stir unsettlingly.

All at once I can't help replaying the events of yesterday over in my head once again.  
The rest of the class is unaware that our philosophy professor kissed me, and the images cannot escape my mind; Mr Fleck ordering me about in that firm, sultry voice, gripping the back of my neck so he could press his warm mouth against mine.

It should've been horrifying but it wasn't.  
It's as if I want him to conquer me. To dominate me.

I bite my lip to prevent my eccentric musings from carrying on, to no avail.

He was on me. His scent. His saliva. I remember the skilful way he manipulated his tongue over mine; taking the gum from my mouth in a way that sounds gross but was bizarrely sensual at the time.

For the first time in, well, forever...not a sound is coming from the students.  
Kayleigh glances over to me with a 'what the fuck was that?' look on her face, and all I can do is shrug, acting oblivious.

It was already evident to me that Mr Fleck has a hidden temper, which he's clearly decided to unleash on us today. And maybe it's about time to, he deserves respect.

I observe him for a second. He isn't wearing one of his trusty old sweaters today; instead he's in a snug-fitting white dress shirt, the sleeves of which are rolled up casually, revealing his bare forearms. I never knew how sexy the hair on a guy's arms could be.

But that's the whole point; Arthur Fleck is a man. Nothing like the college boys in athletic pants and graphic-print T.shirts.  
With his hair slicked back from his face, and the sharp tie around his neck, he's the absolute epitome of everything that boys my age aren't.

I could date Evan, and have an age-appropriate boyfriend.  
But professor Fleck now has my complete and undivided attention.

Has he completely changed?  
Is this the new him, or maybe the real him?  
I don't know, but I want to know.

"So, these quotes were all penned by a man who wasn't technically a philosopher, but a psychiatrist. One who's observations are still influencing the way we approach both psychology and philosophy today." He says, gesturing to the words he's scribbled on the board....

Show me a sane man and I will cure him for you.  
The most terrifying thing is to accept oneself completely.  
Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darkness of other people.

He raises his eyebrows expectantly. "Does anyone recognise any of these?"

Without thinking my hand shoots up, almost as if I have no control over myself.   
In the past year, I haven't once raised my hand to interact with the teacher, or willingly participated in a class discussion.

His unnerving gaze settles on me, and I feel myself drowning in those sea-foam green eyes.

"Yes Miss (l/n)?" He gives a nod in my direction.

"Yes....it's Carl Jung, sir."

"Indeed it is, Miss (l/n)." A wry smile curls his fine mouth, causing an ominous fluttering sensation deep in the pit of my stomach.

The feeling is so unexpected, so frightening, but I don't dislike it.  
It feels alarmingly good.  
I want it.

Fuck.   
The harsh reality hits me like an eighteen wheeler truck.   
I now have a thing for my teacher, and yes, Mr Fleck may be much older than I am but who cares? 

He's beautiful.

Eventually when class is over, everyone makes a mass stampede towards the door, all except for me that is. I have to get my phone back.

I make my way over to his desk, and wait patiently for him to finish wiping down the board.

Without a word he turns to retrieve my phone from the drawer, passing it to me.  
I take it, feeling more than just a little irritated that he's handing the device over without so much as a stern word.  
Secretly, the dark place inside of me wants him to scold me.  
To teach me a lesson.

"I finished my paper as you asked." I blurt, for want of something better to say. "It's funny, you were right about me needing an incentive, Artie."

Immediately he registers my meaning. Knowing full well what I'm hinting at.

"Yes you turned in your paper, (y/n), and from what I've read so far I'm impressed." He takes agonisingly slow steps towards me, prolonging the anticipation. "However you broke the rules yet again by having your phone out in class."

My brow furrows in annoyance. "Wait, that's not fair. You can't use that against me when I specifically did what you wanted me to do. I won't have my phone out again in class, okay. I've learned my lesson--"

"I doubt that, (y/n). I haven't even taught it you yet." He cuts me off. "You seem surprised? What, did you think that me confiscating it was your punishment?"

A cluster of tingles wriggles down my spine, making me shiver.  
He smirks to himself, amused by my reaction as my eyes widen.

"Interesting. I can't tell which excites you more, the prospect of being punished or being rewarded."

"There's only one way to find out, sir." I bat my eyelashes at him unashamedly, and then let out a startled yelp as he suddenly pulls me closer to him.

"You're such a bad girl." His tone drops to an even more seductive pitch. "What am I going to do with you."

I've no time to think of a suitable response, or even to register what's happening, because in the next instant he's sat on the edge of his desk and hauling me across his lap; almost tipping me upside down onto my head.

Holy shit.   
He's actually going to spank me.  
No sooner has the realisation dawned, when he brings his hand down and his large palm connects to my left butt cheek in a firm slap.

"Ow! Fu--!"

"Language, (y/n). You know profanity is unacceptable in the classroom." I can hear the audible smile in his voice, his malicious mirth, as he strokes me through the fabric of my jeans, before smacking me again.

"Y-you're enjoying this, aren't you?" I squeal, stupidly. But I'm struggling to think straight as I lay sprawled across his knees.

"Yes. Why, aren't you?"

His fingers squeeze my ass, caressing and rubbing the cheek that he's slapped, and...shit, it feels surprisingly good, his strong hands massaging the pain away.

"Mhm...y-you don't have to enjoy it quite so much." I retort, which elicits a devilish, throaty chuckle from him.

"You're a fine one to talk, Miss (l/n). I seem to recall you enjoying the way I removed your gum yesterday."

If my face wasn't already bright red from being tilted over, I would be blushing furiously.

"Ooh, what happened to (y/n)?" I ask, hoping to change the subject. "Aren't we passed using formalities now that we're...uh, more intimately acquainted?"

In a swift movement he flips me back up, and has to steady me as I struggle to regain my balance.

"I'm still your teacher." He husks, rising to his feet so that he's towering over me, his hands gripping my waist in a tightening grasp.

"And yet...here you are, sir, fornicating with your student." I tease.

"Hm, I like it when you call me sir." His hands trace over the outline of my body, exploring my feminine curves.

I exhale shakily, fighting for breath as I feel the touch of his cool fingers, ghosting over my warm skin as he slips his hands beneath my sweatshirt.

"A-and...what are you going to call me, sir?"

He nuzzles his face into the space beneath my head and bare shoulder, feathering sweet, delicate kisses along my exposed skin.

"I'll call you whatever you like, baby."

Baby?   
The word sounds so foreign, so sinful coming from him, and I find it incredibly sexy.  
He says it like it's a cuss word, as if it's filthy. Nasty. And it's so fucking hot.

"Baby...I-I like baby."

"Yeah? And what else do you like, hm?" 

His hands run over my breasts, and I ache with the maddening need to feel his touch without the inconvenient barrier of material.

"O-oh...you, sir. I like y-you."

"You like me, huh?" I can feel him smiling against my lips, as his mouth finds mine. "Who was the picture for?"

I falter for a second, thinking I must've misheard him or something.

"W-what?"

He takes my bottom lip between his teeth and tugs on it lightly, teasingly.  
God, I swear this man could get me off without scarcely even touching me.  
He is turning me on that much.

"The picture on your phone, you bad girl. Who was it for? Evan Jenkins? I know your type is an incompetent moron, which makes me wonder why you'd be so interested in me all of a sudden."

"They're not my type, not anymore." I babble breathlessly, leaning into his forbidden touch; hungry for more. "I want you, sir. I...I don't want anybody else."

"Oh really?"

"Yes I do, I want you so bad."

At that he suddenly pulls away, leaving me temporarily confused.   
He steps back, taking heavy slow breaths, and stares at me for a few seconds without moving an inch, until he lashes out; knocking everything on his desk to the floor with one, smooth sweep of his right arm.

I jump at the sound of everything hitting the floor one after the other. Papers scatter everywhere, a pair of reading glasses fall down; breaking one of the lenses.

He clears the distance between us and aggressively lifts me onto the desk; almost slamming me onto it. I gasp but he swallows my racing breath as he kisses me so forcibly, tugging on my hair firmly to force my mouth even more onto his.

My thoughts scatter into a million fractured pieces. Everything other than him, Arthur Fleck, just ceases to exist. There is only him, and in this insanely passionate moment he has become the centre of my universe. The focal point of my existence.

Who would've thought he'd be so reckless, so demanding, so fiercely sensual.  
If this is his dark side, then my own dark, rebellious side craves it.   
Craves him.

He crosses my legs around his waist roughly. His smooth tongue finds its way passed my lips, entangling with mine as he swirls it around; kissing me with a desperate, possessing dominance, practically making me purr like a kitten.

This is reckless, daring, and so freakin' hot.

My arms wrap around his neck as I submit myself to him. We're both gasping, in need of air but neither of us want to stop, fearful of shattering the heady spell that's holding us in it's defeating grasp.

"Do you want me in here?" He whispers, gently sucking on my bottom lip.

I let out a needy moan, and gasp, my senses unravelling with the intensity of his clothed erection pressing against the centre of my body.

Yes. Desperately. I can't deny it.  
My body is aching with a burning need for his touch. To feel him closer. As close as we can possibly get.

"Yes, A-Arthur...please take me now." I beg, the yearning in my voice evident.

"Not yet, baby. It wouldn't exactly be appropriate now would it? Me fucking you right here in the classroom."

My hands go to his chest, and he allows me to gently shove him away without any resistance.

"Wait, what the hell? Why would you do this...throw all your shit on the floor, if you didn't even intend to go through with it?" I demand.

I feel ashamed and foolish, and horribly confused.  
Why would he toy with me in such a way?

"Because, you need to learn that you can't always have what you want, and when you want it. You have to learn to be patient, and to deal with your emotions in a more mature manner."

"Mature manner? Seriously? You're going to lecture me on maturity, professor? After this stunt you just pulled?"

His gaze holds mine, and he's looking at me with surprising tenderness. A blossoming sort of affection I'd never dare believe was possible coming from him.

"Don't...don't call me professor."

I jump down from the desk, rearranging my rumpled clothing.

"Why not? You are my teacher after all."

I cross the room to collect my bag, when suddenly he bursts into abrupt laughter.

What the hell? Is he laughing at me now?  
The humiliation cuts deep, cleaving through me like a blade drawing blood.

"Is this amusing to you? You demeaning me like this?" I spin around, and I'm not prepared for the sight of him clasping his throat, as if he's trying to stop himself but isn't able to.

"You know, I thought you were...special. That you'd treat me better, with you being more mature and experienced, but I was wrong." Tears pool in my eyes; clouding my vision, but I'm still able to see him shaking his head. "You're no different to the rest of them. The guys my age who play games, who just pick you up and drop you like you're nothing but a toy to be played with."

I'm crying now, roughly trying to brush the tears from my flushed face. I can feel myself shaking. Whether it's due to anger or hurt I can't be sure, probably both.

Arthur's laughing dissolves into gasping, and choking. It's bizarre and uncomfortable, and it sounds downright painful.  
It's enough to give me pause, my anger now being replaced by concern.

"Arthur? Are you okay?"

He nods his head, but judging by the deep shade of pink he's turned and the rib-racking, strangled noises he's making, he clearly is anything but okay.

"Do you....do you need me to fetch the nurse?" I drop my bag onto the floor, and rush to him, placing an arm around his shoulder, which is easy to do seeing as he's bent over at the knee.

"No, I-I....I'm o-kay." He wheezes, as he leans in against me and I respond by cradling his upper body in my arms.

"What is it? What's happening, what's wrong?"

"I...h-have....a cond-ition."

The rush of relief washes over me, moving me to tears once more, as thankfully his laughing subsides.

Now it's all over he straightens slowly, dragging his hands through his hair; regathering his composure.

"What is that condition, Arthur?" I ask, hoping I don't offend him. "You can tell me, sir. I swear I won't tell anyone."

He smiles weakly, as he continues to take long, deep breaths. 

"It's a neurological condition, caused by severe head trauma when I was a little boy. It's my brain's way of processing anxiety. I've learned to control it better as I've gotten older, otherwise I wouldn't be able to teach."

I gaze at him, my bottom lip trembling precariously. "You mean I did this? I made you anxious? Oh god, I'm so sorry--"

"No, don't apologise." He interjects. "It wasn't you directly. It was just seeing you get all worked up. I really didn't intend to upset you. You missed the point of what I was trying to teach you. Patience, self-control, they're important life skills. I wasn't trying to humiliate you. That's not who I am, I wouldn't do that."

I get it now, and nod understandingly. "I'm sorry for comparing you to boys my age. You're nothing like them. It was dumb of me to think like that."

He groans and pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "Yes that was pretty insulting, but...every time you mention the age difference it reminds me that we shouldn't be doing this."

His words wind me, making me realise just how much I want him. Because the thought of us having to go back to being nothing more than student and teacher leaves me cold, and the disappointment is crushing.

"Sir, I can be more mature. I know I act like a punk but that isn't the real me."

"Sure it is. It's the other side of you that's exerting dominance over yourself as a whole. It's part of your personality. Just like it was the darker side of mine that kissed you, and threw you on the desk just now. I let that part of myself get carried away, but I'm able to control it mostly. Just like I learned to control my condition. And you can too. You have to find balance, and learn to control that rebelliousness."

Everything he's saying resonates with me and makes perfect sense now. I've lost all sense of balance and control, until he recognised it, perhaps even recognised a little of himself, in me. 

But the point is he helped me. Found me even, when I was most lost, and without him I know I'd probably carry on the way I have been doing and throw my life away, then live to regret it when I'm older.

"A-Arthur...will you help me?"

Reaching out, he cradles the side of my tear-stained face; stroking my cheek softly with his thumb.

"That's what I've been trying to do (y/n)."

"What about the kissing and stuff?" I ask him, my heart now in my throat. "What made you do that?"

He sighs. "I was showing you my rebellious side. That doesn't mean I didn't want to kiss you, because I did...and I still do. But you're a (y/a) year old girl--"

"Yeah, I'm passed legal." I interrupt, defiantly.

"I could lose my job. You're still my student."

"Only for a few more months." I smirk, mischievously. "Besides you knew that when you started this. We can be careful. Nobody will find out, I can keep a secret."

He laughs, a genuine one this time, and it's so beautiful the sound quite literally steals my breath away. 

"Can you really?"

"For you, sir. I'd do anything for you."

  
>>\-----------------------------------------<<

"Are you sure about this?"

I tilt my head back to gaze up at my older lover; lifting my shades so that I can look him in the eye. "Artie, will you stop worrying. I've already told you, I don't care what people think. I didn't care when my so-called friends called me a boring bitch when I started studying harder, did I?"

I really didn't. Prior to becoming involved with Arthur, I would've thought it would bother me, but it didn't.  
They all thought I must've lost my personality but I didn't.  
I found it again.   
Arthur helped me find the balance between the more polite, sensible side, and my reckless, rebellious side, so I'm a happy combination of the two.  
I can still be carefree and have fun, but that doesn't mean I have to be obnoxious and rude anymore.

"Yeah but, your friends will be down here." He continues, his brow furrowing with worry.

"And? They'll finally get to meet the mystery man who's responsible for making me so happy, and for all the amazing grades I got."

"Not to mention all the hickeys you've had." He winks at me, making me giggle. "But when they find out it's me...won't you be embarrassed? What if I have an episode? If I get too anxious and laugh, I wouldn't want you to be ashamed of me."

I come to halt on the sandy pathway, forcing him to stop too as I press my hands to either side of his face.

"Listen, I could never be ashamed of you. Don't ever think that. I love you! And they'll love you too once they get to know you like I do. But hey, if they can't accept we're together then I don't want them in my life."

His serious pout melts into a heart-stopping smile. "Shit, I love you (y/n). You're so fucking sweet."

His strong, capable arms encircle my waist and he pulls me close, lowering his head so he can press a limb-melting kiss to my lips, making me swoon.

It's a glorious summers day. The sun is shining brightly, and there isn't a cloud in the powder blue sky; which is a rare occurrence in Gotham.

Now that the warmer weather is here I can't wait to spend lazy days in the garden with my guy, and long evenings out on the porch; sipping a beer as we listen to music.

Now that graduation is over and we can officially be an item, I'll be moving in with Arthur. My parents are bringing the rest of my things over next week, and they're actually looking forward to meeting him.   
At first they'd been a bit sceptical due to the age gap, but they love that he's a professor, not to mention the fact that he keeps me grounded, and saved me from dropping out of college.

Arthur's old house is owned by the university and situated on the outskirts of the campus. It's surrounded by trees, which made it secluded enough to enable me to sneak over there almost every night, where we'd spend the time studying; he'd help me revise, and read to me while I lay in his arms.

We'd also eat together, dance, and make love a lot.

Just as I'd suspected, he was all man.

A man with needs, desires, and demands...

"If you want me baby, then you're going to have to be completely mine." He'd told me, the very first night I went to his home. "I don't want anyone else kissing you, touching you, or fucking you. Do you understand? I don't share. I won't have you any other way."

Remembering those torrid words, his stormy eyes, still makes my body feel hot and wired.

Naturally I'd agreed to his terms, grabbing hold of his tie and tugging him closer as I'd replied with, "I'm all yours, sir."

Then we'd crossed the line; me eagerly unbuttoning his shirt, him slipping my panties off, before taking me in his, conveniently large, bed.  
Afterwards I'd collapsed, leaning my head against his chest; listening to his heart beating as he'd wound his fingers through my hair.

Life had taught me to be cautious with my expectations, but Arthur far exceeded them.

It had been difficult at times in class, having to act blasé in front of everyone else; trying to keep from grinning like a smitten idiot as I replayed our heated exchanges over in my minds eye.

He taught me philosophy, self control, self acceptance, as well as several new positions in bed...and the bathroom, and in his study too.   
Oh god, the study. My eyes used to glaze over in class just thinking about it.  
Seeing him wear a particular tie that he'd bound my wrists with the night before always made me blush at the erotic memories it evoked.

Arthur can be kinky; he likes to dominate me, and tie me to the headboard while I call him sir and beg him for release as he teases and tortures me with his skilful tongue.

But he's also incredibly romantic; he buys me flowers, reads me poetry, and enjoys us sitting down to candlelit meals together.

Physically the relationship is more than satisfying, as well as being emotionally fulfilling too. His sweetness, his sexiness, is so potent, no wonder it hadn't taken long for me to fall helplessly head over heels for him...

"Artie...I love you. You know that, right?" I'd blurted out one evening, as I sat curled against him on the couch.

He'd immediately ceased stroking my hair, and looked up from the book he'd been reading aloud from.

"You...you shouldn't say things like that, (y/n). Not unless you really mean it."

"I mean it! Shit, Arthur, you've shown me what love is. What it can be. I guess I was hoping you could learn to love me too. I don't expect you to feel the same so soon, but..."

The tip of his finger against my lips silenced me.

"(y/n), I've had to deal with rejection, betrayal, and disappointment all my life and it damn near destroyed me. I'm not strong enough to suffer any more of it." He swallowed hard, and I sort of got the impression that he'd been waiting for this for a long time. And it was finally happening.   
"So....are you sure you love me? Are you absolutely certain of your feelings? Because if the answer is yes then I'm afraid you're stuck with me. I don't love in a half-hearted fashion. It's all or nothing with me."

I felt the thrill run through me at his words.  
I wanted nothing more in the world than to be loved so ardently by him forever.

"I've realised since getting to know you that I've never been in love before. I've never felt about anyone the way I feel about you, Arthur." I let out a shaky breath. "I love you, I love you with all my heart."

That was eight months ago, and I'm more besotted with him now than ever.  
He's my absolute everything, and I am his world he says.

As we wind our way along the path towards the lake, he squeezes my hand, noticing that I've been lost in my thoughts. "Everything okay, beautiful?"

"I've never been better, sweetie." I answer, with a smile.

And I honestly haven't, thanks to him.

End


	36. Imperfections (pt.1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **A/N
> 
> Hey guys! Sorry for my rather long writing hiatus, I've had health issues to deal with which have prevented me from writing. It's so good to be back, I hope you're all keeping well & staying safe out there
> 
> This request was made by KissTheGoGoat and will be either a 2 or 3 part imagine.
> 
> Reader is a little overweight and suffering with depression, she's also sexually inexperienced. 
> 
> Arthur is just Arthur, so no Joker I'm afraid...but our lovely Artie is more than enough ❤️
> 
> ***************************************************

\--1st person POV--

The cramped confines of the waiting room only seem to exacerbate my low mood.

It's so drab in here. The decor is bland and shabby, much like every other place in Gotham nowadays. The walls are in desperate need of a new coat of paint, but I can imagine it isn't going to be high on their list of priorities right now. The state funding is already stretched to its limits as it is, so I highly doubt their meagre budget would extend to getting this shithole redecorated.

It would make people feel a little more welcome though, I think. If rather than flaking grey walls we were able to sit in a nice, soft, yellow painted room. That would feel warmer and more welcoming. That would put people more at ease. Not put them on edge.

To say I'm on edge is putting it mildly. I'm always quite on edge when I come here, and when my mood is low the place makes me feel trapped and suffocated. Having to open-up and talk to a virtual stranger about my past, my problems, my feelings, makes me feel extremely awkward and anxious. 

The way I see it is, I'd rather leave the past where it belongs. I've spent most of my time trying to forget it, so I don't see how raking it all up again is beneficial to me. 

I've developed my own ways of coping, and it infuriates me that my social worker; Debra Kane, doesn't seem to think that I'm actually coping at all. What does she know really? She doesn't know me. All she knows is what she's read in my hospital notes, and I've changed a lot since then. Pain does that to people. 

The source of the pain isn't always easy to determine. Sometimes there doesn't even need to be one. It's just a heaviness. A darkness. And when it hits it's often without warning, and there's no quick-fix or easy way out. 

I'm guessing it's different for everybody, but my experiences always make me feel hollow and empty inside. Like there's a hole in my soul; an empty void that can't be filled no matter how hard I have tried. Spending money I don't have, drinking alcohol, and comfort eating are just some of the ways I have tried to fill that emptiness, but in the end it doesn't solve anything. In fact the comfort eating just fuels my self-loathing.

The big black dog that is 'depression' always returns to chase me, and I'm incapable of out-running it.

There's only one person capable of lifting my spirits when depression has me in its crushing grip, and that's....the man who should be here any minute.

With classic timing the door to the waiting room opens, gaining my attention. I look up from the old magazine I've been idly thumbing through, and smile, my mood instantly shifting.

"Hey Arthur." 

Arthur flashes a bright smile of his own. That warm, genuine smile of his never fails to brighten things just a little, and the dreary atmosphere in the room seems to lift whenever he walks in. Well, for me at least.

Even though at times the thirty-something year old has the posture of a man who's struggling to keep his head above water, practically drowning in his own sorrow as he battles the testing tide of life, his smile never falters.

It used to bother me, as I recognised a person much like myself; one who smiles when really they want to cry. But when I'd tentatively told him once that he needn't force a smile on my behalf, he took me completely by surprise by insisting that his smiles for me were always real. 

"Hey." He crosses the small space in two strides and takes a seat on the hard, spine-torturing chair beside mine. "How are you, (y/n)?"

"Oh, you know...can't really complain." I shrug, leaning forward to drop the magazine back on the pile.

As I sit back I draw level with his eye-line, and for a split second those intense green eyes of his lock with mine.

"And how's, you know, things?" 

I laugh, and it's without humour; a habit of mine that I didn't realise I had, until Debra Kane very astutely pointed it out to me.

"Same shit different day." I say, breezily, shrugging off his enquiry.

The only problem is, that doesn't work with Arthur. It never does.  
He's a very shy, timid, quiet man, but he can be surprisingly perceptive. Aside from Debra Kane, only he alone seems to have recognised my habit of laughing everything off, and it doesn't wash with him.

"(y/n)..." He says, quietly, his emerald gaze never leaving my face. "How are you really?"

My smile wavers but I still manage to force a carefree laugh. To anyone who didn't know better, they would probably think I'm absolutely fine and didn't have a care in the world, when really, I have more than my fair share, that I'm not well equipped enough to handle.

"I...I'm doing okay. Really." I then add facetiously, "I'm thinking of taking up yoga or something. Maybe it'll help me relax."

"Yeah? Sounds great!" He enthuses.

"Arthur, can you honestly see me being able to contort myself into all those positions? And whilst wearing a leotard and leggings?" I pull my face in an exaggerated show of my own disgust. "I wouldn't want to scare the poor instructor."

Arthur's brow creases then, his smile immediately vanishing. 

It's funny because we're both very self-deprecating, and yet we scold each other for it. Neither of us approve of the others' relentlessness when it comes to putting ourselves down.

Arthur is a thin man with a very slight build, which gives him the appearance of being physically frail. I on the other hand, am a little on the chunky side. And just like I know my weight is a contributing factor to my depression, Arthur's low self-esteem and body image hang-ups unarguably get him down too. We don't measure-up to society's standards of what a desirable man and woman should look like.

"Don't be silly." He reprimands, his soft voice stern. "You wouldn't scare the instructor. You worry too much about what people think."

"Oh really? And would you be willing to come with me, Arthur?"

"To....to watch?"

"No, you can't come along to watch. They'd think you were a pervert. I mean to take part in a class."

His eyes widen and I have to suppress a giggle. I already knew when I suggested it that he would rather chew broken glass than subject himself to any such form of social interaction and humiliation. 

"Uh, no I don't think so. I'd look ridiculous."

"And that is exactly how I would feel."

"But....I'm a guy. Everyone would laugh at me if I tried to join in." He argues. "But I'd come to support you."

I smile at him fondly. His kind words warming me from the inside out. But at the same time, even just the thought of him watching me trying to do yoga is enough to bring on a panic attack.

"That's really sweet of you, Arthur. But I wouldn't want to horrify you either." I giggle.

He doesn't laugh along with me. Doesn't even crack a smile. Instead those intense eyes of his fixate on my face, causing a sudden fluttering in my stomach.

"You really wouldn't horrify me (y/n). Not in the slightest."

I've known Arthur for a while now. Almost a year in fact. And in all that time I can't ever recall having seen him look more earnest, or heard him sound more sincere.

I swallow roughly, unable to handle the strange myriad of emotions that's swirling around inside my gut. I feel touched, surprised, thankful, and....something else.

"Thanks, Arthur. You're so sweet."

He blushes and ducks his head. Not accustomed to receiving compliments.

"I'm just being honest. Honesty is the best policy, isn't that what they say?"

I nod in agreement, and find myself gazing at him wistfully. "They do."

"I never have been able to work out who 'they' actually are though." He adds.

This time I laugh and it's real, which makes Arthur chuckle too.

"You're funny, Arthur."

He grins, shrugging his narrow shoulders. "That's why I'm going to be a comedian."

"And you'll make a great one, I'm sure of it."

Pushing a hand through his thick, brown hair, his tone alters again, becoming more serious. "You look tired. Are you still having trouble sleeping?"

"So....you're saying I look like crap? Gee, thanks!" 

"N-no, that isn't what I meant--"

"Arthur, it's okay. I'm just messing with you." Sighing, I rest my head back against the hard wall. "I've had a couple of rough nights, but it's no big deal."

"You having nightmares again?"

"No, these are more like night-thoughts actually. They keep me awake, and they just spiral. You know the kind? They make you feel trapped and alone, and panicky. You start thinking about the future and you see no hope. No end to it all."

"I get it. Sometimes I don't even dare think about the future. Of what's coming next." He leans forward and takes me by surprise when he suddenly touches my arm gently. 

Arthur has never touched me. He's far too reserved and shy, and I've always assumed that physical contact makes him uncomfortable.

"But I-I'm here for you." He continues. "You know that, right? If you ever need anything, just let me know."

This is another first. Yes, Arthur and I talk like this, we even regularly go for coffee after leaving here, so we talk some more, but never has he said "I'm here for you"

He lowers his eyes shyly, blushing like a schoolboy. He has such a good soul, and his kindness makes me feel....well, I can't identify the feeling. It's a glorious mixture of feelings that I can't quite make sense of.

"That's very kind, Arthur. Thanks. But..how do I get in touch with you? Do I send up smoke signals? Or try telepathy?"

He blinks, looking momentarily confused, and then it dawns on him.

"O-oh, of course. You'll need my number." 

"Well it would help." I giggle, feeling inexplicably giddy at the prospect of getting his number. "Unless you have some hidden superpower that I don't know about."

"If only." He chuckles, searching his pockets frantically for a pen.

I tell him it's fine, that I'll get his number before he leaves, but he won't hear of it. It's like he's unable to settle until he's asked the receptionist for a pen and some paper.

"There you go. You can call anytime. Even through the night, I don't mind. You won't disturb me. You know I hardly sleep anyway."

I take the small scrap of paper he hands me, like it's the most precious thing in the world.

Actually it isn't, I think. He is.

Instead of putting it into my purse like a normal human being, I absently tuck the folded piece of paper into the breast pocket on my chequered shirt, as if subconsciously wanting it close to my heart.

His eyes follow my movements, which means they settle for a fleeting moment on my chest. A flush of heat suffuses my entire body, and I have to clear my suddenly-dry throat.

"T-thanks, Arthur." I smile. "I really do appreciate that."

Our eyes meet, and there's something so reassuring, so tender in his gaze that it makes it impossible to look away. 

We've had many conversations whilst sat here, waiting to be seen by Debra, and in the little coffee shop around the corner near the station, but we have never hung out properly. Never exchanged numbers. It shouldn't be such a big deal, it's not as if he's asked me out on a date or anything, but for some strange reason it feels like a huge development.

Maybe it's just wishful thinking on my part.

The thing is he's so easy to talk to, it doesn't feel like such a daunting task opening up to him. It just sort of happens naturally. If the truth be told, my little chats with Arthur are the only positive thing about coming here. Then by the time I go in to see Debra, there's nothing else I need to get off my chest. And besides, the woman is so austere, so apathetic, neither of us like talking to her anyway.

"Uh, s-so how are things with you?" I stammer, quickly averting my gaze. I feel warm and prickly. Which is odd, seeing how chilly the waiting room always is.

"Oh, they're good. Mostly." He smiles unconvincingly. "I got jumped at work."

My heart lurches in my chest. "Oh no! Are you okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine..." It's now his turn to avoid my eyes. "But on the plus side...my standup routine is almost ready for the big clubs now."

I force a smile. Happy for him, but still concerned for his well being.

"That's fantastic. Are you sure you're okay though? You weren't injured too badly at work?"

He shakes his head, a loose curl falling over his forehead, which is scrunched in thought. "No. I'm tougher than I look."

Now I find myself reaching out, gently placing my hand on his. "I don't doubt it." I smile.

This whole touching thing is quite addicting. Arthur's hand is so large beneath mine, his skin slightly rough. It looks so masculine and capable, and I like the feel of it. I'm tempted to lace my fingers through his, to turn my palm upwards and hold onto it.

I need to stop this. Am I really that starved of a man's touch that such slight physical contact has me hungering for more?

He stares at my hand for a long moment, slightly perplexed, before raising curious eyes to my face; which feels undeniably hot again.

"Mister Fleck?" 

I jump slightly and pull my hand away. We both turn to look at the receptionist who's called out his name.

"Miss Kane will see you now."

Reluctantly, Arthur slowly stands, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his tan jacket; out of my sight and reach.

"Good luck." I smirk, knowingly. "Have fun."

"Hm, can hardly wait." 

We share our secretive smile. It's like a code which no one else in the office or waiting room is privy to. Other people come here, some regularly, to see their social workers, but only Arthur and I have been unfortunate enough to be landed with Debra Kane. The others don't realise how lucky they are.

Debra was our one commonality. That was how we initially got talking. We bonded over our mutual misfortune and unwavering dislike of the woman.

I suppose you could say that my blossoming friendship with Arthur is all I've got to be thankful to her for.

<\---------------------------<

"Arthur!"

The stern voice of Arthur's social worker, Debra, shattered his daydream, making him feel irrationally cross. 

"Arthur, have you been listening to me?" She asked, her brows drawn low in annoyance.

That was rich, Arthur thought. She never listened to him, so why should he listen to her?

"Arthur, you need to pay attention." She ground the words out, all patience nearly lost. "It's important that you keep up with your journal."

He nodded disinterestedly. "Yes ma'am."

"So why haven't you brought it with you?"

His gaze lowered and settled on his lap, willing to look anywhere other than at her blank, impassive face and dark, judgmental eyes.  
Sometimes he doubted himself, wondering if he was really speaking at all, because everything he ever said was always met with the same emotionless expression. So in the end he'd basically given up. Choosing to answer her repetitive questions but not elaborating further.

He noticed that his cigarette had almost burnt right down to the filter, and the ash had fallen onto his pants.

"Arthur. Your journal?"

"I just...forgot." He lied, brushing the pile of ash away, leaving a dark smudge in its wake. "Sorry ma'am."

The truth was he hadn't forgotten his precious journal at all. He just didn't want Debra reading all of his private thoughts. His personal thoughts, about you.

He'd begun documenting your interactions, making notes on each time he made you laugh, what you found funny, and your likes and dislikes. At times his mind grew shambolic, and it was difficult to remember all the details, so he was concerned he might forget. He didn't want to forget.

Although, in reality there was little chance of that. Arthur had been smitten ever since the moment he first set eyes on you; your beautiful face, your sweet but broken smile and those pretty eyes that were haunted with a sadness that he longed to chase away.

But he had to keep all of his whimsical fantasies to himself. Especially the more questionable ones, the ones that involved your soft, supple body, which made it difficult for him to meet your eye without turning a bright shade of red. 

He couldn't help himself. He was only human after all, and couldn't resist appreciating your curvaceous figure. All those scantily-clad women in the magazines were aesthetically pleasing to some extent, but personally Arthur found he was far more attracted to fuller-figured women.

And you were voluptuous. Curves in all the right places, and he could just imagine burying himself deep inside of you. The illicit thought made his face burn with shame, because if you knew what he was thinking each time he admired your figure you'd no doubt slap his face. After all, he wouldn't be the type of guy you'd go for. He was hardly considered desirable. You'd most likely be repulsed.

Yet still he tortured himself with his delusional daydreams. Because it wasn't just your body he was interested in, no, your beauty was just an added bonus. Arthur admired your strength, your resilience and determination to overcome your demons. He adored your personality, and with you he felt he had at last found someone who understood him. Someone who could relate to his personal struggles.

He valued your friendship most of all. You were the only person who made him feel important. Special. Cared about.  
And he was willing to settle for just friendship, even if he secretly longed to be closer to you; pining after what he believed he could never have.

<\-------------------------------->

Twenty minutes later Arthur returns to the waiting room, and he waits for me while I go in. It's become our little routine lately, so we can have coffee together, and laugh over Debra's deadpan face like a couple of silly school kids. 

Being with Arthur makes this weekly appointment more than just bearable. I actually look forward to seeing him each week, and a part of me hopes that he feels the same way.  
When I bid him goodbye he always looks so sad. Probably because he's lonely. I know he lives with his mom, but there's no love interest in his life. That's something else we both have in common.

My love life is non-existent, pretty much always has been, and I'm starting to worry it always will be.

When I was still in high school I used to believe that beauty was in the eye of the beholder, that someone would fall in love with me for me, in spite of those stubborn extra pounds I can't seem to shift. We'd be soulmates of course, I'd give myself to him, and we'd be together forever. 

How wrong was I.

Now with each passing year, I feel more stale. Like the last loaf of bread left on the shelf that nobody wants, even though it's partly my choice that I've remained chaste, untouched.  
Virginal.

With my mental illness and low self-esteem, men aren't exactly queuing around the block to date me, and naturally I've got trust issues. Not to mention many find my weight off-putting. I don't have a flat stomach and toned thighs like the women you see constantly on television and in magazines. I'm no Hollywood size zero, and I actually don't want to be.

But of course, I've built up a wall of defences around me, to keep the judgmental world at bay. So it takes a lot for me to feel comfortable around a guy. And when the guy disappoints me, hurts me and lets me down, it just reaffirms my belief that I'll be single forever. 

It takes a lot to earn my trust, and I've yet to meet a man who actually wants to understand how I'm feeling when my dark moods take over. One who's accepting of my body shape, who won't suggest I go on a diet or try working out more. And who's willing to be patient with me in the bedroom.

At this point, I've actually given up on dating altogether and resigned myself to a lonely life of sexual frustration and self-loathing.

I have friends and family of course, but they don't truly understand what goes on inside my head. They have their own problems.

That's why I'm so thankful to have met Arthur. He's probably the only one who truly understands how it feels to be shunned by society.  
He knows about my fears, and the dark thoughts that plague me.  
He's never made me feel stupid, or like he's judging me, and I feel safe around him, which is bizarre considering we've never spent time together alone in private.

As I arrive home later I take out the piece of paper with Arthur's name and number scrawled across it in his barely legible writing, and smile.

My thoughts turn to what he said about getting jumped, and it makes me feel so sad. He doesn't deserve to be beaten and bullied like he is. Life's already hard enough for him as it is, what with his mom being sick, and his numerous conditions, anxiety and insomnia.

Still, at least he's following his dreams of becoming a comedian. I really hope that all works out for him. The poor guy deserves some happiness in his life.

My heart pinches, as I torment myself with the thought of being their beside him to share in that happiness. Better still, to maybe provide him with some. But I strongly doubt that he'd be interested in a slightly overweight, depressed virgin.

Living with depression and anxiety alone is challenging enough, I know that from personal experience. But maybe if we can be there to support each other, we might stand a better chance of winning the constant battles we face on a daily basis.

We've both had tough lives which has, to some extent, left us damaged, but that doesn't mean we can't turn things around.

Until then, we'll have to settle for finding some comfort in one another. 

All I have to do is stop secretly crushing on him like a hormone-imbalanced adolescent.


	37. Imperfections (pt.2)

Nothing, and I think I speak on behalf of all people suffering with depression when I say this, nothing on earth is more damn frustrating than being asked why you're feeling down when you have no reasonable explanation. No simple answer. 

The internal struggle to try and shake off the feelings that are weighing you down; crushing you slowly, is relentless. That is until you find yourself completely drained of energy and all motivation has deserted you, so you find yourself accepting the inevitable and sink further into the quagmire of self-loathing and negative thoughts.

It's like trying to wade through quicksand.

It's exhausting and frustrating just trying to explain yourself to those around you who don't understand. Even when those people are your closest friends and family, the resentment that bubbles up inside of my chest only exacerbates my low mood, because I don't want to take my anger, my irritation, out on them, but they can't and don't understand, and there's no way of putting my feelings into words.

I've tried and they just don't get it.

I feel guilty then for pushing them away, for lashing out when all they're trying to do is help, so my irritability alone is enough to make me want to revert into hermit-mode.

I even miss my appointment with Debra Kane, my social worker. 

I don't forget it, I just literally cannot face it. Initially I had intended to drag my sorry carcass down there, but the thought of having to sit and discuss my thoughts and feelings -- especially with her -- is just too overwhelming.

Even the prospect of taking the bus, of having the judgmental eyes of all those strangers on me, is unbelievably daunting.

I know in reality nobody would care less if I grew a second head whilst riding the bus, but my irrational state of mind makes me paranoid. Neurotic even. When I get like this I feel as if everyone is looking at my sideways and judging me. Therefore it's a much safer option to just stay home.

My thoughts do turn to Arthur, and I'm tempted to call him up, but I can't quite face that either for some reason.

These conflicting emotions drive me insane. His quiet, gentle voice acts like a soothing balm to my jangled nerves, so I know I'd benefit from speaking to him, but I don't want him worrying about me.  
He has more than his fair share of problems, and I don't want to be an extra burden. 

He's so good natured I know he would only fret over my state of mind. I already feel guilty for having missed my appointment. He's bound to be wondering why I didn't show up.

But then of course, the self doubt creeps in, and I convince myself that I'm probably not all that important to him. I mean, why would I be?  
I'm a hopeless human being. At least Arthur manages to hold his shit together. He takes care of his ailing mom and never misses a day of work. I on the other hand am still struggling with the whole adulting thing. Okay so Arthur is older than me, but being younger is no excuse. I'm just pathetic.

It's later that night as I'm still wallowing in self-pity when the buzzer sounds, startling me more than it should.

I'm not expecting anyone, and I absolutely hate it when people just drop by unexpectedly. Well, when I'm in a better state of mind it doesn't bother me so much, but feeling the way I feel right now, having someone just show up on my doorstep fills me with a kind of cold dread.

I remain exactly where I am; cocooned in my fleecy blanket on the couch, and decide to ignore it. They'll probably get the hint and go away. I can't even begin to figure out who it might actually be. I don't get that many visitors these days.

To my immense annoyance the buzzer sounds again. Then again. And again...

I growl under my breath in irritation and pull the blanket higher, almost instinctively wanting to pull it over my head. As if the childish action will somehow save me from this intrusion.

My stomach drops. My guts begin to churn like a washing machine on a spin cycle. 

They're not going away. 

The icy prickle of irrational fear turns to anger. Why are they not getting the hint?

Perhaps, I reason then, it's one of the neighbours locked out of the building. This is only a small three storey complex comprised of six apartments, and it has happened before. People go outside to check their mailbox and forget their key. You can prop the main door open but it has a tendency to blow shut if it isn't wedged securely.

Hastily I disentangle myself from the blanket and stomp across to the intercom on the wall.

In hindsight, I should know it isn't one of the neighbours when there's no gabbled explanation at the other end when I lift the phone, and I could've prepared myself.

"Mmmf...yeah?" I practically grunt into the receiver. I'm not feeling talkative enough to be polite or even articulate.

There's a moments pause, and then, "I-is that you (y/n)?" The speaker sounds suitably unsure, given my muffled and nondescript greeting.

Wait. Wait a second. That voice.

My head snaps up and my stomach performs a gymnastic flip. I am now very much fully alert, as if I've just been zapped with a cattle prod. 

It can't be. No, it doesn't make any sense.

"Y-yes." I confirm shakily, unable to form a sentence yet it would seem.

"Hey.....it....it's Arthur."

Oh shit. 

Of course it isn't a neighbour and I ought to have known it. But nothing could've prepared me for this. That lulling, deep, spellbinding influence of a voice, only belongs to one person.

And he's at my front door. Well, downstairs anyway.

I subconsciously grasp the receiver tighter and manage to find my own voice. "Hey, Arthur! What...what are you doing here?"

Ugh, that sounds so rude, but naturally I'm still in shock. I have mentioned in passing where I live, but I never expected him to remember. After all, why would he?

"Y-you didn't show up today and I was worried about you. I would've called but, I uh, I don't have your number. I...I'm sorry for just showing up like this. I just.....I just needed to know that you were okay."

This is probably the most I've ever heard Arthur say all at once. Ordinarily he has a tendency to speak in short sentences and I know it must've taken real effort as he sounds a little breathless, a little desperate. 

It wasn't that long ago he admitted to me that sometimes his words get muddled in his head. Like he knows what he wants to say, but he struggles to give voice to his thoughts. Which explains why when we first met his speech was very monosyllabic and lacking in personal pronouns.

"You don't have to apologise." I tell him. "Really, it's nice to know somebody cares."

Him. That somebody is him. Obviously I can't admit this to him, but it's amazingly nice to know that he cares this much, and I'm still slightly in shock.

"Are you okay though?"

"Absolutely." I manage to lie lightheartedly. "I've just been busy. Really busy."

"Oh.....are you...are you busy right now?"

A light sweat breaks out on the palm of my hand that's gripping the phone, and I try to quell a sudden wave of excitement. 

But, he can't see me like this. I'm an absolute mess.

"I was just going to take a shower." I blurt the words out unintentionally, and immediately regret it. He's probably picturing me naked now and gagging into the intercom.

"Oh." Arthur responds, sounding somewhat deflated. "Right. Sorry."

I feel so wretched, but as I stand here in my tatty pyjamas and stare down at my bare toes, which are scrunched in horror, I find myself consumed with disappointment.

I realise I actually really want to see him, more than anything in the world.

"M-maybe some other time then." I catch his barely audible mumble.

Oh no. That sounds way too vague. People tend to have a habit of saying that when they've absolutely no intention of making further arrangements.

I need to see him, and if that means seeing him now then so be it.

"No, it's okay. Pull the door and come up."

"Are you sure? I don't want to impose."

"It's fine, honestly." My voice comes out much more higher pitched than I would've liked, but I find myself pressing the button that opens the front door before I can give myself time to rethink it.

As I hang up I finally allow myself to breath, not having even realised that I'd been holding my breath.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

I have less than a minute to make the place look more presentable. I grab my pillow and blanket and throw it back on my bed. I close the door to the kitchen, trying hard not to look at the sink full of discarded dishes that I've yet to muster the energy to wash.

I plump the cushions on the couch and light a scented candle, filling the living room with the supposedly calming essence of lavender. Calming essence? If only.

There isn't enough time to check my appearance in a mirror, and that's perhaps a blessed relief. My (h/c) hair is definitely lacking it's usual lustre. It's greasy and messy, in desperate need of a wash. In fact the last time I caught sight of my reflection it looked like a birds nest. A slightly demented bird, thats built its nest whilst under severe pressure.

I stand and wait at my front door. The approaching sound of Arthur's footsteps bounce off the walls as he ascends the two flights of stairs, and then he's there....

Beautiful Arthur; dressed rather smartly in a navy sweater and black pants. The bright, overhead strip lighting picks out intense strands of gold in his mass of brown curls, and his striking green eyes make me feel as if I need to catch my breath.

"Hey." He smiles, the instant he sees me. The warmth of his radiant smile has an instant thawing affect. It melts my heart, warming me through to my very bones. "This place is fancy."

"Fancy?" I repeat with incredulity, as we head inside. "It really isn't."

"Compared to my building it is. You have to wipe your feet on the way out of that place."

I laugh and shake my head as I go into the kitchen to fix him a drink. In truth, I'm so aware of my shabby appearance I'm kind of reluctant to stay still. I don't want him looking at me too closely, or for too long.

"Would you like a tea or coffee, Arthur? Or I have juice."

"Can I just get a glass of water please?"

I raise an eyebrow, somewhat surprised. For some reason I stupidly wasn't expecting that. I don't know why, now that I think about it. Arthur appears to be a straight-laced type of guy. He wears sensible cardigans and slacks. No jeans and sneakers for Arthur. So I guess drinking plain water kind of fits with his overall personality.

"Sure. One water coming right up."

One water coming right up? What am I a waitress now? That is not something I would usually say. My overly jovial tone makes me inwardly cringe. Having Arthur here as a guest would make me slightly nervous even under normal circumstances, because....I like him. Really like him. But him dropping by unannounced is almost enough to reduce me to a quivering wreck.

I need to relax, otherwise he'll no doubt notice I'm behaving oddly.

As I grab a bottle of mineral water from the fridge, I glance down and notice the stain on my pyjama top from the cereal I spilled on it earlier.

Oh god, I'm such a mess. This is not how I want to be seen by anyone, especially Arthur. What must he think of me? Not that he'd judge me or anything, he's like the least judgemental person I know, but for some reason it matters.

It matters to me, him seeing me in this bedraggled state.

"I uh, was just having a lazy day today." I gabble, forcing a tight smile as I hand him his water. "Just uh, make yourself at home, while I jump in the shower real quick."

"(y/n)...." He says, haltingly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

He's looking at me closely, his green eyes scanning my face like he's searching out the truth.

Sometimes I wish he wasn't so perceptive. Yet at the same time, I'm kind of grateful for it.

I mask my feelings and my family and friends tend to see what a normal pair of eyes sees; a fake smile. A carefree shrug of the shoulder. 

Arthur sees beyond the facade. His eyes recognise that I'm actually cloaked in despair, which clings to me like an invisible shroud.

And now his kind, open face is creased with concern. He's looking at me all softly and sadly, and that's all it takes.

I crumple, feeling suddenly very wobbly, as if I no long have an endoskeleton. 

But then I feel strong arms enfolding me. Arthur is surprisingly strong. His chest feels solid, his arms supportive, as he holds me tightly. And it's like he's literally holding me together in this moment; his warm embrace the only thing keeping me upright, preventing me from shattering into a thousand pieces on the floor.

I sob quietly into his shirt, clinging onto him like he's the last life raft aboard a sinking ship.

"Ssshh, it's okay." He says soothingly, as he rocks me slightly from side to side. Our bodies gently swaying together in a motion that's always so strangely comforting. 

My crying begins to subside. The sudden sensation of his large hand gently stroking my hair does something to my brain, or perhaps it's my body. I'm no longer thinking about the rough few days I've had, but rather the closeness of his body, and it's enough to make my tear ducts miraculously dry up.

It feels amazingly good to be held like this, with such reassurance and certainty. In Arthur's arms I feel safe, secure.

Dare I even say.....wanted?

I lift my head and inadvertently find my face almost buried in the crook of his neck. He smells faintly of smoke -- of course he does, he's a seriously heavy smoker -- but I also catch the hint of clean skin and the musky scent of men's cologne.

I breath him in deeply, wanting to hold that essence in my lungs for as long as humanly possible.

"T-thank you, Arthur." I manage to stammer, feeling quite overwhelmed by the affect that he's having on me.

I've gone from feeling comforted to something else. Something I can't, or don't want to identify.

"You don't have to thank me." He assures me, as we finally break from the hug.

My face is flushed and tear stained. I don't feel ashamed of having fallen apart in front of him, just awkward, because I don't want him to see me looking so unattractive.

My eyes accidentally fall on the clock, and I'm suddenly struck with inspiration.

"Hey look at the time. The Murray Franklin show will be starting, you love that show, right?"

I switch on the TV and flick through the channels until I find it. The opening theme music fills the room, and I gesture for Arthur to take a seat.

He sits on the couch and sets his glass tumbler down on the coffee table. Then he looks up at me expectantly, that adorable lopsided smile of his curling his lips.

"Are you going to watch the show?"

I shift uneasily, still painfully aware of my grotty appearance.

"Well I really need to take a shower..." I pause, feeling conflicted. His expression is so earnest. He seems to want me to stay and watch it with him. 

I relent and sit down beside him. It's a relatively small couch, so I position myself as far away from him as possible. It's not that I don't want to be near him. I just don't feel comfortable being near him....not like this.

Still, we watch the show together in companionable silence; save for us occasionally laughing or remarking on something funny that Murray has said.

Once it's finished I can finally go for my shower. The warm jets of water cascade over my skin, washing away not just the grime accumulated from not having showered in a couple of days, but also any trace of sadness.

It's astonishing how therapeutic it is, though I also know that my mind is now currently preoccupied with thoughts of the object of my secret affections, who is currently sitting in my living room.

I wish I could impress him somehow. After him seeing me so dishevelled, I'm not sure what I should change into. Whatever clothes I have don't really disguise the fact that I'm a curvy girl, so I doubt he's going to find me attractive, regardless of what I wear.

Smiling to myself, I consider potential outfits. If I had the confidence, what could I wear to try and entice him? The cute pair of shorts I sometimes wear for bed. My silky robe, perhaps with sexy lingerie underneath. 

Okay, I'm being ridiculous, I'd never be brave or bold enough to try and seduce him.

Mores the pity.

Once I'm done in the shower I step out of the bathtub and wrap a towel around me. It isn't a proper bath towel, due to me not having done any laundry. I may as well be wearing a face cloth; as it scarcely covers me.

I sigh, thinking if I were thinner then the size of the towel wouldn't be such a problem. The amount of comfort food; the chips and the chocolate I've consumed over the past few days won't exactly help matters, but I can't dwell on that right now. I can't afford to be consumed by my negative thoughts.

The living room is visible down the hallway, but not where the couch is positioned, so I safely make it to my bedroom which is situated directly opposite the bathroom.

I've just closed the door, when I hear Arthur's voice call out, having presumably just heard me leave the bathroom.

"(y/n).....is it okay for me to use the bathoom?"

Poor guy, I wonder if he's been desperately waiting for me to finish my shower.

"Yeah of course." I call back, cracking my door open slightly. "Sorry I took so long."

A thought then occurs to me. Have I left anything lying around in there that could potentially cause embarrassment?  
My razor? Okay that isn't so bad....surely Arthur knows that women shave their armpits, legs and.....things.  
My dirty underwear? Did I put it in the laundry basket? 

Oh shit, now I'm doubting myself. Just like when you leave the house and then begin to wonder if you've left the oven, iron, or your hair straighteners on. 

Not wanting to risk it, I hurriedly dart back into the bathroom and do a cursory scan of the floor. There's no sign of my discarded panties, so I breath a sigh of relief, although I'm mildly irritated by my compulsion to double check things. 

Any relief I feel, however, is quite literally knocked out of me, when I turn to leave, only to find myself colliding straight into Arthur.

I give a strangled yelp of surprise, as we almost knock each other off our feet. He stumbles back but instinctively grabs hold of my upper arms to steady me, and we gabble apologies simultaneously....

"Shit! I-I....I'm so sorry. I thought you'd....I thought you were--"

"I was. I mean I had, I just....Oh god! Sorry, Arthur."

He lets me go, and I clutch my minuscule towel tighter around me; securing it so I don't expose myself further.

This is hideously embarrassing. 

"I was just....n-never mind. It was my fault." I squeak, lowering my head, not daring to meet his eyes.

Arthur is now unnervingly quiet, and seems suddenly incapable of movement. Perhaps crippled with horror from having accidentally seen me so scantily clad.

I turn and try to sidestep around him as best I can, but there isn't exactly enough space for the two of us in the doorway. As I slide passed him the wet skin of my back brushes against his chest. I inhale, and he lets out a barely audible gasp. 

Despite his sweater and the towel between us, my skin has gone prickly and a languid heat begins fizzing at the base of my stomach; the place where all the sweetest, most pleasurable feelings tend to come from.

As I scurry into my room, I don't mean to but I dart a nervous glance at him from over my shoulder. He's staring back at me, with a look that only makes me feel warmer; his eyes half nervous, half curious. He is also blushing, I notice.

I swallow hard and quickly close the door behind me, leaning back against it for support, almost collapsing as the reality of the situation rushes over me.

Yes it is hideously embarrassing. Arthur is the last person I'd ever want to see me like this. Not exactly naked thank god, but I'm still showing way too much flesh. But there's something else that I'm now painfully aware of. 

I'm flushed with heat; all breathless, tingly and flustered. I'm.....I'm turned on.

How? He was fully clothed for gods sake! And this situation is so fucking awkward I don't even understand how it could even be remotely possible, but I am.

I wonder if it's a biological thing. My body's way of reminding me that I'm a grown woman who's never had sex.  
Obviously I find Arthur attractive, but is that all it takes to get me aroused? Being semi-naked and in close proximity to the man I find desirable?

Shit.

I really need to focus on getting dressed right now. I'll deal with the awkwardness, and my raging hormones, when I have to.

>>\------------------------->>

"Fuck....fuck ...fuck!...." Arthur repeated aloud, as he rested his hands on the washbasin. 

It was the only word he could think of to adequately express the shame and overall sense of panic he was currently experiencing.

He already found you overwhelmingly attractive, and now....

....now he'd seen you like, that.

What if you thought he'd done it deliberately? Which of course he never would. To walk in on you in the bathroom on purpose was unacceptable. Regardless of how tempting it might be, Arthur would never betray your trust by doing such a predatory thing. He was a gentleman.

He threw a disdainful look at himself in the mirror. 

Gentleman? Pfft. A gentleman would have turned and left the room immediately. A gentleman would've had the good grace not to look.

Aaaagh, he felt like internally screaming. 

Ordinarily this should've brought on one of his laughing episodes. His anxiousness always triggered it, and his anxiety levels were off the chart right about now. He felt the familiar tickle in his throat, but nothing. Not even a nervous giggle.

Perhaps his mind was to preoccupied with replaying the scene over and over again for his viewing pleasure. Instead of fixating on his blunder, all he kept seeing was you. You wrapped in that tiny towel; droplets of water decorating your soft skin like little jewels as they caught the light. 

So. Much. Bare. Skin. 

Of course he'd admired your bare legs and shoulders, not to mention the tops of your perfectly full, rounded breasts.

He groaned, feeling his pants grow uncomfortably tight around his crotch.

There was no way he could take a piss until he calmed down, and to make matters worse, the illicit longing he secretly harboured to smash his lips against yours, to feel your voluptuous body writhing beneath his own as he buried himself deep inside of you, was gnawing away at his insides. Clawing and clamouring for release.

Why did he continue to torment himself like this? You would never, ever, want him. You could never desire him, lust after him like he did you.

Turning the faucet on, Arthur cupped his hands and splashed his burning face with the cold, harsh water.

He had to get a hold of himself, before he lost his composure completely. As much as he was dreading having to face you again, he knew he had very little choice in the matter. Escaping through the window wasn't an option. 

And walking around in front of you with a hard-on tenting his pants would be the ultimate humiliation. It was utterly shameful, unforgivable, and....well, obscene.

The very idea of you noticing his excited state was too much for Arthur. 

He clutched at his throat, unable to suppress the eruption of rib-aching laughter that began to wrack his frail body, causing his eyes to water.

Still, in spite of the immense discomfort, he found himself thankful that his annoying affliction was at least providing a distraction from his erection, and the attack doused his fevered ardour even more affectively than if he'd pulled his overzealous cock out and stuck it directly under the freezing cold faucet.


End file.
